Starting Over
by PhoenixAsh6953
Summary: Have you ever wondered why, in all Harry's Occlumency lessons, Snape never realized how bad Harry's home life was via his memories? Well, you should. Because things would have gone a little differently...
1. Occlumency

Harry spent most of the first day back from the Christmas holidays dreading the evening. The last time he had been in Snape's office had not been a pleasant experience. Of course, no time he was in Snape's presence had been pleasant. His morning Potions class, for instance, had been as loathsome as ever, with Snape breathing down his neck making sarcastic comments. Add this to the fact that he kept having to explain to everyone, including members of the D.A., that he was taking "Remedial Potions" that evening and he had the makings of an extremely uncomfortable day.

Harry sighed. He was pacing up and down one of the aisles in the library, the one place in the school that was consistently silent. After everything that had gone on over the past few months and over the holidays with Mr. Weasley's attack, Harry felt that he needed to think. He glanced down at his hand where the words "I must not tell lies" should have been. The concealment spell was still in place. Having been rushed out of the school so quickly the night he had the vision Harry had no time to plan how he would hide the cuts from Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, or the others. Fortunately, he had perused the library in Grimmauld Place while everyone thought he was sleeping. Most of the books were rather foul, containing all kinds of Dark spells; one, however, had contained a whole chapter on Concealment and Vanishing Spells. Harry had found one designed to hide scars and disfigurements. Perfect.

Of course, that led Harry to a topic he would rather not consider: why was he taking such care to hide it? The reason, or the reason that he told himself, was that Sirius might do something rash and get chucked back in Azkaban. That could be very true, of course. But was that all? Harry could have told McGonagall or Dumbledore; Sirius didn't have to know. Or Lupin. Why did he never think of Lupin? They had been so close during third year. But Lupin hadn't written to Harry either. Lupin had never written to Harry even when he was a kid…or checked on him…or given any indication that he had been to close to Harry's parents at all when they first met…maybe somehow Harry was returning the favor.

Harry groaned and leaned against a bookshelf. He had been so angry lately, all the time. He never used to be this way. Maybe Voldemort being back had something to do with it. Or Cedric. For all that Harry had been alone with his thoughts during the summer he had never really let himself think about Cedric, despite the nightmares. It had been so much easier to foster his anger towards Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione for keeping him out of the loop. So much easier to spend the school year being enraged than…what? Sad? Guilty?

Frightened?

Harry's thoughts came back to his hand. It was so much easier to deal with physical pain. _I must not tell lies_. But he had been lying to himself all year, hadn't he? Telling himself he'd dealt with Cedric's death, telling himself he didn't care how everyone always seemed to either adore or detest him and there was never a middle ground, that he didn't notice Lupin's silence, that Sirius' "fits of the sullens" didn't hurt because James could have soothed those fits—

Harry was interrupted by his watch beeping. He quickly silenced it before Madame Pince could hex him for disrupting the peace in her library. He had set the alarm to go off twenty minutes before his appointment with Snape. There was no point in being late and angering Snape on the first day. And frankly, Harry was getting sick of being at odds with people. He hated being angry and sullen all the time; he didn't like himself when he looked in the mirror anymore. Some words Dumbledore had once spoken to him came back, "It is our choices that make us who we are…" Harry reflected how much Sirius' sullen moods wounded him. _I don't have to be that_, he thought, _if I have control over nothing else I have control over this at least_.

As Harry made his way down to the dungeons another thought occurred to him: that Snape of all people had been one of the few constants in his life. Constant dislike, granted, but a constant nonetheless. After everything Snape was always the same. And he had watched out for Harry regardless. He had saved him in his first year, he had come after him in third year when Harry was in the Shrieking Shack, he spied for Dumbledore right under Voldemort's nose. That couldn't be easy. Why did Harry feel such a need to dislike him? To validate Sirius? Well, Sirius hadn't done much to endear himself to Harry, as of late. Maybe this was another thing Harry could resolve to change…

Harry came to a sudden halt, realizing that he was outside Snape's office door. Well, it was now or never. Harry took a deep breath and entered. It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in variously colored potions. In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry – not without reason – of robbing. Harry's attention was drawn toward the desk, however, where a shallow basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Harry recognized it at once – Dumbledore's Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing here, he jumped when Snape's cold voice came from the corner.

"Shut the door behind you, Potter."

Harry hastened to obey. When he turned back to face the room Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his face.

"Well, Potter, you know why you are here," he said. "The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions."

Harry felt a surge of annoyance but then remembered his earlier resolve. And really, he did hope that he did better at this than Potions.

"Why does Professor Dumbledore think I need Occlumency?" he asked.

Snape's eyes narrowed malevolently. "This may not be an ordinary class, Potter, but I am still your teacher and therefore you will call 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times."

Well, okay, that was a reasonable request. "Sorry, sir."

Snape blinked and then carried on to explain what Occlumency was and why Harry needed to learn it to guard his mind from attack, scoffing at Harry's calling Legilimency mind-reading.

Harry shifted nervously. Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded a lot like mind-reading to Harry, and he wasn't too keen on letting Snape of all people peruse it. Snape took out his wand and Harry tensed, but Snape merely placed it at his temple in the roots of his greasy hair. When he withdrew it a strange silvery strand, neither gas nor liquid, came away. It stretched like a gossamer strand and then broke and fell gracefully into the Pensieve. Snape did this twice more and the carefully removed the Pensive to a shelf as though afraid Harry might peek. But Harry was not at all inclined to pry. Snape returned to face Harry with his wand at the ready.

"Stand up and take out your wand, Potter."

Harry obeyed, feeling nervous. "You may use your wand to disarm me or otherwise defend yourself. I've been told that you have an aptitude for resisting the Imperious Curse; this will require similar skills. Prepare yourself…one, two, three…_Legilimens_!"

Harry had no time to conjure a resistance. The office dissolved and he was lost in a whirl of colors. Image after image flashed before him as though he were watching a poorly edited, disordered film.

He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy…He was nine and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree while the Dursleys stood on the lawn below and laughed…He was sitting under the Sorting Hat and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin…Professor Quirell was running up to the Head Table, shrieking about a troll in the dungeons…His aunt was rapping on the cupboard door, screaming, "Up! Get up! Now!" and Harry was sitting up wearily, taking in the underside of the stairs, and beginning a hunt for his socks…

Suddenly Harry was jolted back into awareness as he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He realized he had fallen to the floor and his knee had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk.

"That was not as poor as it might have been," said Snape, who had lowered his wand. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused."

"Did you see everything I saw, sir?" Harry asked.

"Bits of it," Snape said. A sneer was starting. "Did you often hide in that cupboard?"

"No…_sir_," he added hastily after seeing the look on Snape's face. "I slept there." Then, not entirely knowing why he felt the need to explain himself, he went on, "It was my room until I was eleven."

"Your room?"

"Yeah. It was where my bed and everything was. It was as far away as they could put me, I guess."

"I see." Snape's expression was unreadable. "That unruly, were you?"

"I was a wizard." Harry shrugged. "I suppose they didn't want me infecting them."

Why were they discussing this? Even Ron and Hermione had never asked why. Come to think of it, Harry reflected, they didn't know. He had never told them. Ron only knew about the second bedroom and the bars. Snape had an odd look on his face that Harry couldn't quite make out, but then he hitched on his usual sneer.

"I had no idea there was such a simple method of containing you, Potter. I shall know where to conduct your next undoubtedly imminent detention."

Oddly, Harry began to be amused, as though he and Snape were having a battle of wits rather than wills. And, Harry had to admit, after all the tension and people tiptoeing around him at Grimmauld Place like he was a bomb that could go off any second this was rather refreshing. How strange.

"I don't know, sir, I mean it doesn't have the same effect without Aunt Petunia's melodious voice. Maybe we should ask Umbridge, I bet she could reach the same pitch if I ask Fred and George to spray paint "Fudge loves half-breeds" on her desk." How could he possibly be smiling in Snape's office? Surely the earth had stopped spinning.

Snape stared at him a moment before raising his wand. "Are you ready to resume your lesson now, Potter, or shall we continue this inane stroll down memory lane?"

At the reminder of why they were there Harry felt his amusement evaporate. But he managed to reply, "Let's continue, sir. Why listen when you can watch?"

"If you make suitable progress, I shall not have to do either. Get ready…" Harry stared at the wand tip, focusing on repelling it. _"Legilimens!"_

Harry was lost in a swirl of colors once more, but rather than watch the images he tried to focus on where he really was. _He doesn't have to see this. I don't have to let him see this. Get out, get out, get out…_

Harry tried concentrating on one image but they were whirling too fast. He tried not thinking but he could as easily detach his head. Growing desperate, he tried something else.

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts,_ he sang in his head. _Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees._ Harry tried to focus on remembering the words. _Our heads could do with stuffing…no…our heads could do with filling with some interesting stuff, But now they're…_What were they? _They're bare and full of air, dead flies, and bits of fluff…_Harry couldn't remember what came next. Then he was aware that he was kneeling on the floor again.

"Interesting strategy, Potter," Snape said from above him. "Perhaps you are not entirely hopeless."

"Is that kind of what I'm supposed to do, sir?" Harry asked, getting to his feet again.

"The true Occulumens will be able to clear his mind, suppressing those specific emotions while retaining the ability to consciously think and act. However, for a beginner you were not completely abysmal."

"Thank you, sir." Harry was panting as though he had run a long distance.

Harry stayed for another half hour, Snape repeatedly casting the spell and Harry trying to resist. By the end, Harry still couldn't push Snape out but he did at times succeed in making things look fuzzy. At last Snape put away his wand.

"That will do for tonight, Potter. I expect to see you here next Thursday at the same time. Practice emptying your mind each day between now and your next lesson. Breathe deeply and try to find a point of stability inside yourself to concentrate on. Since you are just starting out I suggest that you do so in a quiet environment. In other words, try to be as far away from the Weasley twins as possible. You may go."

Harry got to his feet, feeling a little muddle-brained, although that could have been from shock. Unless he was mistaken Snape had just cracked a bit of a joke!

"I'll do my best, sir," he said. Then, after a slight pause, "Thank you for taking the time to do this. I imagine it's not how you want to spend your evenings." Maybe this was too much, but on the other hand there was no sense in offering an olive branch only halfway.

Snape raised one black eyebrow. "If you recall, I had little choice, Potter."

"Even so, sir, I appreciate it."

"Hmph. In that case, I expect you to be especially diligent about practicing and make sure my efforts don't go to waste. And be warned, I will know if you haven't."

Harry nodded, picked up his bookbag, and left. As he walked he couldn't help feeling extremely accomplished. Sure, he clearly had a lot of work to do before he mastered this Occlumency business. But this was probably the most civil he and Snape had ever been to each other since they met. Harry wasn't sure what this meant or what his lesson next Thursday would be like. But for the first time in a long time he was walking away from a conversation that he didn't feel ashamed of.


	2. Of Meditation and Memories

**Hello all! I have to say I'm surprised and grateful for the responses to this story. Thank you to everybody who left a review! Just a head's up, I am still a student and because of that have a rather crazy schedule, but I will do my best to update every week. I also realized that I never put in the usual disclaimer so here it is:**

**The Harry Potter series is the property of the lovely J.K. Rowling. Any recognizable characters or names in this story are hers. I am merely borrowing. And now, on to the next installment!**

"Not that bad!" Ron exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind?"

Harry had returned to the common room after his lesson and was now sitting cross-legged before the fireplace, stroking Hermione's cat, Crookshanks. After having his memories poked and prodded it felt nice to be able to do something so simple and repetitive.

Harry sighed. "According to the Daily Prophet, I lost it ages ago," he said in answer to Ron's rhetorical question. "And yes, _it wasn't that bad_. Snape showed me what we're going to be doing, then he gave me some instructions, and that was it. Is that so hard to believe?" The question came out more snappish than Harry had intended, but he couldn't take it back now.

Ron wasn't cowed by Harry's tone, however. "Yes, yes, it is!" he said. "Snape's hated you since you got here. He's a right git in class to all of us, and always has been. And now you're just okay with that?"

"I didn't say I was okay with it," Harry said. "I'm just…" He fell silent, thinking of the right words. "I'm tired, okay? I'm tired of the fighting, and the yelling, and the sulking, and…just all of it."

"What do you mean? Who's fighting and sulking?" Hermione broke in. She looked bemused, apparently having difficulty following Harry's train of thought.

"Everyone's," Harry replied. "Snape, Sirius, Umbridge, the entire school, and…and me." Harry finally looked up from the cat snoozing in front of him. "I…I know for a lot if this year I've been as much of a git as Snape, and…and I'm really sorry. I don't mean it. Just…with everything going on and everything that happened last year I…I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Everyone thinks I'm crazy, and sometimes I'm worried they're right."

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione rose from the table at which she had been doing homework and came to sit on the couch near him. "Harry, listen. You are not crazy. What you are is dealing with a ridiculous amount of pressure and stress, and you are understandably about to crack."

"And if it makes you feel any better, you've never been as much of a git as Snape even on your worst day, mate," Ron declared.

Harry snorted in spite of himself. "Thanks, guys," he said. And he meant it. There was about a heartbeat of silence and then he continued, "Anyway, I guess my point is if I have to spend Thursday evenings in Snape's office, I might as well make the best of it. He has saved my life, or tried to, more than once. If he and Sirius want to duke it out, fine, by all means, I'll even break out the boxing gloves, but it's their drama, not mine, and I want out of it."

Hermione was nodding emphatically, and Ron mumbled, "Well, I guess when you put it like that…"

"Harry, I have to say, I admire your maturity," Hermione announced. Harry was strongly reminded of Mrs. Weasley, and he and Ron exchanged looks, smirking.

With practiced ease, Hermione ignored this, and continued, "So what does Professor Snape want you to do?"

"Well, I guess the idea is that I have to block access to my mind by…how did he say it? Oh yeah, 'finding a point of stability inside myself.' And I just realized I have no idea what that means." As if cued, Harry and Ron both turned to Hermione.

"Why do you two automatically assume that I have the answer?" she demanded, although her mouth was twitching like she was suppressing a smile.

"Because you always do," Ron said.

"Well, believe it or not, I'm as confused as you are. But I have some free time tomorrow, so I'll have a look in—"

"The library?" Harry guessed, grinning.

Hermione grinned back. "Yes, Harry, the library. You know, this big place with lots of books? Designed to help people learn things they don't know? Like now, for instance?"

"Hermione, believe me, after knowing you for five years, I can never again disrespect the monumental institution known as _The Library_!" Harry made a grand gesture as though delivering an oration, and Ron and Hermione laughed. Harry laughed with them, feeling more relaxed than he had all year.

The next morning Harry woke feeling immensely glad it was Friday. And the Friday of a Hogsmeade weekend at that. Harry made a strict resolution: he was going to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, go into Honeydukes, walk out with at least half the merchandise, go up to the old cave that Sirius had been staying in last year, sit himself down, and have an afternoon of glorious silence. And when he passed out in a sugar-induced coma Ron and Hermione could levitate him back to the castle. Yes, Harry decided with firm nod, that should do it. Now he just had to make it through today.

As Harry and Ron made their way into the Great Hall for breakfast Harry happened to glance up at the Head Table and lock eyes with Snape. Uncertain what to do, Harry settled for an awkward nod of acknowledgment. Snape merely stared back coldly and then turned away. Oh well. Baby steps. Harry took a seat, noticing with fondness that Ron had already managed to fill his plate to the edges. As Harry reached for the nearest dish of potatoes an object was suddenly shoved under his nose, making him jump.

"Harry! Look what I found!"

Nearly falling out of his seat, Harry righted himself by clutching the table. After a moment he was able to discern that the object was a book and the hand that had done the shoving was Hermione's.

"Hermione? What-?"

"I found this when I was putting my shelves back in alphabetical order last night," she said happily. Ron snorted and rolled his eyes. Hermione continued, "It's one of my old Muggle Studies books. Take a look."

Harry read the title: Lessons to Live By-A Brief History of Muggle Philosophy. Still confused, Harry looked up at Hermione for an explanation. "This gives an overview of all the major philosophical ideas that have come out of the Muggle world," she said. "Remember how you were confused about how to quiet your mind? Take a look at chapter five."

Hermione flipped excitedly to the correct page and placed the book on top of Harry's plate. It was a chapter on Eastern philosophy. Harry began flipping pages, skimming the contents. There was a lot about achieving balance and serenity and ridding oneself of worldly attachment.

"Look here," Hermione said, unable to keep quiet any longer. She pointed to the middle of a page Harry had just turned to. "Apparently, the monks use meditation to help them gain spiritual enlightenment."

"'Spiritual enlightenment?'" Ron scoffed. "What's the point of that?"

"Some people like to broaden their minds, Ron. Anyway, this just gives a very brief description but from what I can gather the method is that you concentrate on one thing without losing your focus and through that you can actually, I don't know exactly how to describe it, detach yourself."

"I've heard of meditation," Harry said, reading over the paragraph in the book. "Actually, this sounds a lot like what Snape described. Hermione, you're brilliant!" Hermione beamed. Harry turned the page, and his face fell. "It doesn't say how to do it, though."

"I'm sure we'll find something with more detail," Hermione said confidently.

And this was how Harry found himself altering his original plan and walking into Tomes and Scrolls, the Hogsmeade bookshop, instead of Honeydukes. Harry had the satisfaction of finding two books he could use, one detailing how to use meditative exercises for relaxation and another giving some very nice instructions along with helpful techniques and tips. He walked out of the shop feeling quite pleased with his accomplishment. And even better, by three o'clock that afternoon, he, Ron, and Hermione had reached the cave (which Harry had dubbed Padfoot's Den), each clutching a bag of their favorite sweets. Hermione produced a thick woolen blanket that she had shrunk to the size of a handkerchief; in seconds it was big enough for all three of them to sprawl comfortably on. Ron passed around bottles of Butterbeer and the three friends settled down, munching their candy and talking now and then.

As Harry approached Snape's office door the following Thursday, he wondered if Snape would recognize all the practice he had put in. Harry had cracked open the books the same day he had gotten them and tried to follow the instructions. He found a quiet place, arranged himself in a confortable sitting position, closed his eyes, inhaled…and promptly felt his left arm start itching. Harry sighed. Even though he had practiced as hard as he could every night, he didn't feel like he had made much progress. As of yesterday, the longest he could last was six minutes before something distracted him. Tonight, Harry supposed, would be the moment of truth. Harry knocked and heard Snape call for him to enter.

Snape was just putting the last of his memories into the Pensieve. "Well, Potter," he demanded. "Have you practiced?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Well, let's put it to proof, shall we? Get ready."

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to draw as much air as he could into his belly. Then he exhaled, pushing every last bit of it out slowly. He held his wand in front of him with the tip pointed towards the ceiling, both hands wrapped around the handle. One of the books had mentioned using physical object as an anchoring point. Harry figured that since he was a wizard it would make the most sense to use a magical object, and what did he have a better connection with already than his wand? Harry took one more deep breath and opened his eyes to see Snape watching him closely. "Okay, sir, I think I'm ready," Harry announced, trying to suppress the butterflies in his stomach.

Snape nodded. "Very well. One, two, three, _Legilimens_!"

Harry tried as hard as he could to remember his breathing. _Don't look._ _Don't watch. Inhale. Exhale. It's just noise. Don't watch. Breathe…_ It was hard. To his frustration, Harry kept getting distracted by the whirl of memories: his first meeting with the Weasleys, listening to Ludo Bagman commentate at the Quidditch World Cup, Lockhart compelling him to pose for a picture taken by Colin Creevy…and on and on it went. _Come on_, Harry told himself, _don't watch, just breathe_. And then more memories appeared.

Harry was 8 years old, bearing plates laden with breakfast food to the kitchen table. Then Dudley appeared, ramming him in the shoulder. The plates crashed to the floor. Harry stared at them in horror. Then he was seized by his hair, his uncle's angry voice bellowing at him. "You worthless brat! Can't you do one thing right!" Harry's eyes were watering from pain as his uncle dragged him down the hallway and tossed him into his cupboard. The door slammed and he was in darkness.

Then he was 10, stuffing a math test that he had just gotten back into his bag as the school day ended. Suddenly he heard a disturbance from the front of the classroom. Another boy was standing in front of the teacher's desk. "But this isn't fair!" he wailed. "I studied as hard as I could last night!" "I find that very hard to believe," the teacher replied. "And I'm sure your father will as well." "Please don't tell him, Mrs. Perkins. I promise I'll do better. Please?" The teacher shook her head. "You need to bring it back signed tomorrow or you won't get any credit at all." She marched out. "My dad's going to kill me!" the boy cried. He looked almost in tears. Feeling sorry for him, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a lemon drop that he had been saving. He walked up to the boy and held out the candy. "Math stinks, huh?" Harry said. The boy recoiled. "Get away from me, freak!" "Look on the bright side, Jack," someone else called, "at least you're not as dense as Potter!" "No one's as dense as Potter!" said another. Laughter erupted throughout the classroom. Harry put the lemon drop on the teacher's desk (he didn't want it anymore either) and walked away.

Then he was 9, running across the school grounds to escape Dudley's gang. Then he tripped and went sprawling, and they descended. Harry covered his glasses with his hands, waiting for the blows and words to stop: "How old is that shirt, Potter!" "Going to run home to mummy?" "Freak!" "Even your family doesn't want you!" "Stupid!" "Weirdo!" "_Freak!_"

The scene jumped to later the same day. Harry could feel blood running down his face from his lip and his nose. He was carrying his glasses because they'd been broken. Again. His knee and shin hurt from being twisted when he went down, but he just had a few more steps to go. Harry hobbled up the front steps and came face-to-face with Aunt Petunia, wearing her gardening gloves. "Oh, for God's sake!" she exclaimed. "Clean yourself up before the neighbors see you!" She gave him a shove, and Harry stumbled forward, making his leg throb more, biting his already cut lip to remain silent.

Suddenly Harry felt an odd sensation, as though a cord connected to his head had been pulled and snapped. He stumbled, disoriented, and his eyes snapped open. As they did he felt moisture run down his face. He was back in Snape's office. Snape was staring at him, wand lowered. Harry realized that Snape had broken the connection himself this time. He gulped, feeling a strange lump in his throat, and realizing with horror that the drops of moisture were tears. He quickly raised a hand to his face, scrubbing frantically. "S-sorry, sir," he murmured. "I…u-um…I d-don't mean to be…weird…about stuff."

Snape opened his mouth then closed it. After a moment he walked to his store cupboard and began rummaging around in it. Harry watched his movements, trying desperately to get some control over himself. What was wrong with him? He hadn't cried in years. Actually, the first time he cried since coming to Hogwarts was when Mrs. Weasley hugged him in the hospital wing after the terrible events in the graveyard. That was also the last time he had cried. Until now. Harry was sure he had never felt so humiliated. What fifteen-year-old just starts bawling their eyes out in a professor's office? In Snape's office! Harry wished he could just sink into the stone beneath his feet, like the trick step on that dungeon staircase. But the floor remained unmercifully solid.

Snape turned back to face him, holding a vial. "Drink this, Potter."

Harry took the vial and obeyed. At this moment he didn't think he would mind at all if Snape poisoned him. "Sorry, sir," he repeated.

"That's a Calming Draught," Snape said, ignoring Harry's apology. "You should feel the effects in a moment. Sit down."

Snape was right, Harry could already feel his breathe evening out; his racing thoughts seemed to slow down. "Thank you, sir."

Snape took a seat in the chair opposite Harry. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully. "Potter, were those memories of your aunt and uncle typical?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Were those memories representative of how they usually treated you?" Snape clarified.

"Oh. Yes. They've always been like that. I mean, they don't really like me and I was just dumped on their doorstep. And they don't like my magic. My 'freakishness,' as Uncle Vernon calls it. When I was young, weird things used to happen to me. Once I accidentally made a piece of glass at the zoo vanish." Harry almost smiled at the memory of the Brazilian python. "They would punish me for that kind of stuff."

"Those occurrences were bouts of accidental magic," Snape said. "Something every young witch or wizard experiences before they're trained. Your aunt grew up with…with her sister; she should have known this."

"I think she did," Harry said. "I didn't know I was a wizard until Hagrid came to get me. Then she told me that she had always known what I was. I think they thought maybe if they punished me each time it happened they could make it go away or something."

"How did they punish you?"

"Usually they'd lock me in my cupboard."

"For how long?"

Harry hesitated.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice taking on a warning edge, "I will know if you lie to me."

"For days," Harry said. "A couple times for weeks when I really made them angry."

Snape rose to his feet and walked to the Pensieve. After staring into it for a moment, he turned back to Harry. "Have you told anyone else about this?"

Harry nodded. "Ron and Hermione know about some of it."

Snape scoffed. "Have you ever told an adult, Potter?"

"Nobody ever asked," Harry said. It hadn't occurred to Harry himself that this was the case until now.

"I see." Snape continued to regard him for a moment and walked to the door of his office and opened it. "You may go for tonight. I will see you here next week. Make sure that you continue to practice."

"Yes, sir." The Calming Draught was still in effect and so Harry left Snape's office feeling quite serene. For now. A nagging little voice was telling him that come morning that would not be the case.


	3. Snape's Reverie

**Hello, everybody! First off, I would just like to say thank you for your patience. Thanks to the hurricane that is the last semester of graduate school I haven't been able to update as regularly as I promised. However, come April most of my course work will be done and that will change. Bear with me!**

**Thanks once again to all my reviewers. Many of you were curious as to what Sev will do, and so you will be happy to know that this chapter is from his POV. Enjoy!**

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Severus Snape was…disturbed. Yes, disturbed was a good word for it. As he sealed his office with the usual protective spell to thwart intruders, his thoughts kept wandering to the boy who had left not ten minutes ago. Severus growled in frustration as he completed the spell and swept off to his personal chambers. Trust Potter to make things complicated.

Of course, he hadn't expected his Occlumency lessons with Potter to be the highlight of his week. When Dumbledore had first proposed the scheme Snape had been appalled. Having to spend every Thursday evening with his most loathed student? Trying to teach the Boy-Who-Lived-to-learn-nothing an art as refined as Occlumency? He already protected the brat; was that not enough? In his shock and indignation, Snape had actually voiced all these opinions to Dumbledore. Surely there had to be someone, _anyone_, else. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had remained firm.

"It is essential that Harry learn Occlumency, Severus," Albus had said. "His latest vision over Christmas is disturbing. Harry has never entered Voldermort's mind in such a seamless manner. From Harry's description their thoughts and emotions were perfectly blended. Combined with Voldermort's own skill at Legilimency, this leaves Harry particularly vulnerable to manipulation. He must learn to quiet this connection before it potentially overwhelms him."

"Why can't you teach the boy?"

"I could," Dumbledore said. "But it would be unwise. We have talked about this, Severus. If I become too close to the boy, Voldermort might increase his attacks on Harry's mind in order to get at me. Furthermore, if Harry begins to meet with me on a regular basis, Voldermort may become suspicious that I am training him. We cannot offer him anymore incentive than he already has to invade Harry's mind."

"And you think that the Dark Lord will find _my_ teaching him Occlumency less suspicious?"

Dumbledore smiled beneath his beard. "You are a teacher, Severus; it's not unusual for teachers to offer students extra tutelage when they require it. Should anyone inquire, Harry is taking Remedial Potions. If your complaints about his performance in your class are correct I'm afraid it will be an easily accepted excuse. Should Voldemort question you, you will simply say that Minerva demanded it, and that you accepted in order to possibly get useful information out of Harry."

"What about Minerva or Filius?" Severus asked this with some air of desperation. "They have studied Occlumency."

"They have, but their knowledge is more academic. There is no one else in this castle, or I suspect in Europe, whose proficiency in this art exceeds yours. Including myself."

Severus narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore's obvious attempt to pacify him through flattery, and opened his mouth to protest further. Unfortunately, he had used all his arguments already. Severus sulked for a moment and then conceded with bad grace, "Fine. But don't expect me to coddle him."

"Perish the thought," Dumbledore replied, his tone a little clipped. "Thank you, Severus. Now, you had best go to Grimmauld Place and inform Harry of these arrangements at once. He should begin as soon as he returns from his holiday. I also have a letter that I would like you to deliver to Sirius if you'd be so kind."

_Delightful_. Severus bit back the multiple comments he could have made, snatched the envelope out of Dumbledore hands, and made his way to the door.

"And, Severus…" Dumbledore called.

"_What_ is it?"

"That wasn't just flattery. I meant every word."

Severus almost groaned. Damn that old man and his parting shots!

* * *

And so, Severus had taken the hippogriff by the beak and prepared for Potter's first lesson. He had braced himself for the boy's whining complaints, imbecilic questions, and insufferable defiance. He had steeled himself to behold memories of a nice happy childhood and then some darker images from Potter's time at Hogwarts. Severus was ready for all this; in fact, he had almost begun to look forward to taking Potter down a peg or two and showing him how it really was.

Then Potter had actually arrived for his first lesson. To Severus' consternation the boy seemed to be unusually docile. Severus had been confused and (to be perfectly honest) rather disappointed. Towards the end, he had even let down his guard with Potter a little. He had, dare he say it, given the teenager what could almost be a compliment. That in itself showed how bizarre the evening had been. Severus never complimented anyone except his Slytherin's, and certainly not the Pampered Prince. The fact was Severus had been very comfortable in his picture of Harry Potter. Harry Potter was unruly, disobedient, self-absorbed, and disgustingly similar to his father. No matter Dumbledore's frequent protestations, Severus was firm in these convictions. Or at least he used to be. So thrown was Snape by the end of that first lesson that he had immediately snatched up some potions essays from his fourth years right after Potter walked out the door and given several people "T's" just to regain some inner peace.

Severus comforted himself with the thought that surely Potter would be back to normal for the second lesson. But to his shock Potter had in fact practiced. He had even tried use a breathing exercise, as poorly executed as it was, so he must have done some research. And while his mind wasn't exactly a fortress yet, Severus could see a slight improvement. And then those memories had appeared.

Severus reached the entrance to his quarters, hissed the password, and entered the space that served as his sitting area. He waved his wand once to light the fireplace and again to summon a wine bottle and glass. Fine red wine was one indulgence that Severus allowed himself and Merlin knew he needed it right now. Those memories…were not what Severus had expected. Actually he had not given much thought to what he expected. Really he might have guessed. He knew of dear old Tuney's resentment towards Lily. And Severus of all people certainly knew it was possible to carry a grudge for years. But Severus had always been certain that Potter was spoiled because…because…

Because he was Potter. James Potter's son. The golden boy who had bullied Severus unmercifully and trampled over other students as well. The spoiled brat who Severus had loathed because he was a symbol of everything Severus wanted and detested. James Potter's arrogance and disregard for others put Severus a little too much in mind of his own father's narcissism and violent outbursts. And once James had set his sights on Lily Severus' hatred was sealed. Then along came Harry Potter, the spiting image of his father, a perfect reminder not only of James Potter himself but also of Lily's preference for another and the reason for her death. In his despair after hearing the news of her murder Severus was not sure who he hated more: himself for telling Voldemort the prophecy or Harry Potter for being born at all. Yet Severus had agreed to protect the child. It was a fitting penance.

Severus set down his glass and stared into the flames. He had been content with Harry Potter being James all over again. Indeed, it had been very satisfying to inflict revenge on his old rival. Except Severus couldn't make himself see James Potter in those memories. That child who had taken blow after blow from those other boys and come home bruised and bleeding only to be shoved aside wasn't James Potter at all. He was sad, frightened, lonely. The one memory that Severus couldn't get out of his mind, however, was the one about the lemon drop. This boy who was apparently bullied every day had completely forgotten about that in the face of another's distress and had tried to offer comfort without a second thought. That wasn't like James Potter at all. But it was like Lily Evans. Severus released a shuddering breath as he realized, truly realized for the first time, that Harry Potter was both and neither of his parents. So yes, Severus Snape was disturbed and (why not admit it?) ashamed.

Severus remained in front of the fire for several hours, drinking the burgundy liquid in the glass now and then, lost in his reverie. It wasn't only his newfound revelation that he had to contend with; there was also the unpleasant question of what he was to do now. Clearly no one had looked into Harry's home life. _ 'Nobody ever asked.'_ Well, Severus had asked. And because he had asked, now he also had to act.

But how? What steps could be taken that wouldn't compromise his role as a spy? While the Dark Lord accepted that Severus could not outright attack the boy in order to remain at Dumbledore's school, he would surely grow suspicious if Severus seemed overly attentive to him. Perhaps Severus could pass off the interest as a ploy to get closer to Harry and learn his secrets? Maybe, but that still left the problem of determining what sort of action he should take in the first place.

Severus sighed. What he needed was more information. He had to speak to someone else who knew the boy, someone with whom he could discuss what he had seen, but who? Dumbledore was always a prime candidate, but with his determination to keep his distance from Harry he probably didn't have the intimate knowledge Severus wanted. Arthur and Molly Weasley would be willing to be helpful, but Severus suspected that Harry wouldn't appreciate his hurts being aired before the whole Weasley clan. Black was absolutely out of the question. That left one choice.

* * *

**Whoever can figure out who Sev will talk to gets a cookie! Please review :)**


	4. Fraternal Advice

**Just to alleviate any confusion for those following the story, yes, this used to be chapter five. The two have been switched to make for a smoother story timeline. Hopefully it's not so confusing now!**

* * *

Harry had been correct: when he woke the morning after his last Occlumency lesson he had never been so embarrassed in his life, not even when Aunt Petunia sent him to school in a hideous Pepto-Bismal-pink shirt. He had cried like a baby in _Snape's_ office! And then he had actually blabbed about being locked in his cupboard! As Harry brushed his teeth he glared at himself in the mirror. Why did those memories have to come up? And why did Snape have to be so curious anyway? What was he thinking, of course Snape would be curious! Harry could recall when he went to school and discovered from talking to other kids that keeping family members in broom closets wasn't exactly the norm. That was when Harry truly started to realize that something was very wrong. So of course Snape would think it was weird.

Harry spat out a mouthful of toothpaste and snorted. This whole situation was weird! Snape suddenly had access to Harry's whole life story in the most intimate way possible. And if that wasn't enough Harry was just spilling his guts whenever Snape asked. That wasn't really anybody's fault though. Harry had been so relieved that they weren't fighting during the first lesson that he had told Snape whatever he wanted to know to keep him happy. And then the second lesson Harry had been, well, a bit stoned. That Calming Draught stuff was strong.

Harry stomped back to his trunk and began yanking on clothes. This was all so stupid! Why was he studying Occlumency anyway! He would never be good at it. And why did Snape have to suddenly act like he was interested? Snape was never interested in anybody! Hell, even Dumbledore couldn't bother pretending to be interested in Harry this year! Well, that was just fine! It was Harry's dream for people to butt out. Sure, maybe back at the Dursley's he'd been alone, but at least he'd been _left _alone. Then when he was eleven he was suddenly thrust into this world of crazy nuts who couldn't mind their own damn business!

On top of that his scar was tingling. It had started as Harry was walking back to Gryffindor Tower after his lesson with Snape. He had suddenly felt a burning sensation in his scar and a lurch in his insides. But the Calming Draught was still at full strength and so all Harry could muster was a feeling of vague concern that soon faded away. In the light of morning, however, that concern returned tenfold. Why had he felt so…happy? What was going on? Harry slammed his trunk shut, forgetting that he had roommates until he heard an indignant, "Oy!" from Ron.

Harry looked up to see Ron sitting up in bed, bleary-eyed and blinking like an owl in sunlight. "Could you keep it down?"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. He thought about telling Ron that he needed to get up anyway if he didn't want to be late for class but decided not to bother. He made his way down the stairs and flopped onto the nearest couch.

"Well, young Harry, you look mad enough to spit!" said a voice above his head. Harry looked up to see Fred and George sporting identical flaming red heads of hair and identical grins.

"Hi, guys," he mumbled, dropping his gaze back to the floor.

"Amazing how he lights up a room, isn't it, Gred?"

"Oh yes, Forge. Always so bubbly, perky, bright as a sunny day. I think I'll name my first wife after him."

"Could you two leave me alone, please?"

Instead they both took a seat on either side of him.

"So," George began, "how are you?"

"I'm fine." Fred and George stared at him. After a minute of this Harry said, "Okay, I'm closer to lousy than fine, but I don't want to talk about it!"

"Well, that's always a winning strategy," Fred said. "Get in a bad mood and go off on your own to wallow in it rather than talking to people who could actually help. Genius! That's Percy's favorite way to handle everything, too."

Harry growled. "You have no idea what I'm dealing with, so just leave me alone."

"You're right, we have no idea!" George snapped right back. "And you know what, no one's going to have an idea unless you talk! And besides, you should know by now that we never leave anybody alone."

Harry was rather taken aback by his uncharacteristic seriousness and didn't know how to respond. Finally he said, "I appreciate the effort, but it's complicated."

"It is, huh?" George said, looking delighted that he seemed to have made an impact. "Well, lucky for you, dear financeer, we come from a family of nine in a five-bedroom house. We specialize in complicated."

"So," Fred continued. "Anything that we as good friends…"

"Wise elders…" George supplied.

"Mentors…"

"Advisors…"

"Accomplices…"

"Can help you with?" they finished together.

Harry, who had been glancing between the two of them throughout this speech, needed a moment to get his bearings. "Uh…I guess it's my extra lessons with Snape."

"You guess?"

"Okay, it's definitely that," Harry conceded.

"We thought things between you and the Dungeon Reaper were actually going well," George commented.

Harry stared at him. "How did you…"

"Ron blabbed."

_Of course_, Harry thought wryly. "Um, they were. It's just…a lot of personal stuff comes up during our lessons and he's been asking me about it."

"Well, I can't imagine why you'd find that uncomfortable," George said sarcastically.

"He better not be being a git about it, or I'll slip a Laryngollie into his breakfast," Fred said darkly.

"A what?"

"Never mind. So, has he been?"

"Not really. He's just been…quiet."

"Well, that's weird. Usually he ribs you pretty good. Guess you touched a nerve."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Yeah, I guess."

"What's been coming up that's got old Snape so out of joint anyway?"

"Umm…" Harry wasn't sure he wanted to discuss this. Fred and George were being great, really they were, but spilling his secrets to yet more people seemed a bit too much. "I don't know if I'm up for going there right now."

In his peripheral vision he watched Fred, who looked like he wanted to say something but was still figuring out the words, and George, who studied him a moment and then mimicked him by turning to look at the fireplace. Appreciating their silence, Harry ventured to say this much: "I'm just not sure I'm up for learning Occlumency. How is going through old memories supposed to help me clear my mind?"

"Occlu-what?" George asked.

"Occ-lu-men-cy. Apparently it's about learning to protect yourself from mind-reading." Harry didn't care what Snape said; he still thought mind-reading was the easiest description.

"Look, Harry," Fred said bracingly. "I don't know anything about 'clearing the mind.' Sounds right boring, in my opinion. I prefer organized chaos, myself. And having Snape poke around in your head's got to be as pleasant as stinging nettle underpants. But as long as he's being decent about it, it can't hurt to try."

Harry wondered if he should ask, but couldn't resist. "Stinging…nettle…underpants?"

"Eh, the less you know about that the better." Fred had the decency to look sheepish. "But anyway, the point is you never know when things could come in handy. Take it from us, the more stuff you've got up your sleeve, the better."

"I suppose so."

"And," George added, "if he gets nasty you just let us know and we'll give him what-for. We've got shampoo and we're not afraid to use it."

Harry grinned in spite of himself. Then he suddenly remembered something. "You know, Snape warned me about you two."

"What? What did he say?" Fred demanded, bristling.

"He said that when I practice I'll need silence, meaning that I'll need to be far away from the two of you."

"Wait a minute," George said slowly. "Was that supposed to be…I mean, w-was _Snape_…"

"I don't believe it," Fred said, looking shell-shocked. "Harry…I think Snape…"

"Actually joked?" Harry said, grinning. "I know, I couldn't believe it either."

"Harry!" George suddenly slumped against him. "Harry, take me to Madame Pomfrey! I mean it! I'm having a stroke! I'm dying!"

"Blimey, Harry!" Fred exclaimed. "What do you _do_ to him in those lessons?"

"Oh, get off!" Harry said, playfully shoving George away. "And get a grip! So the sun will rise in the west tomorrow, pigs will be zooming all over the place, and people in Hell will need parkas. I thought you two would appreciate that kind of thing."

"Harry, there's organized chaos and then there's utter destruction of the known universe. You're this close to the second one." Fred held up his thumb and forefinger.

"I'm sure you'll cope."

"Hey, Harry!" Ron had finally made his appearance. "Are you coming?"

"Yep, I'll be right there." He turned back to Fred and George. "Thanks, guys."

Fred slapped him on the back. "Hey, what are big brothers for?"

"Big brothers?" Harry repeated.

"Sure! We've got to lord it over _someone_ besides Ron."

Harry smiled. "I guess. See ya later."

Harry clambered out of the portrait hole and together he and Ron made their way to the Great Hall. Spotting Hermione, who had undoubtedly already been up for half an hour, sitting near the doors with a book propped against a milk jug, they immediately joined her. Fred and George wandered down about fifteen minutes later, both nodding to Harry as they went past. And, as Harry added butter and jam to his toast, it occurred to him that perhaps crazy nuts that don't mind their own business aren't so bad.

* * *

**Please R&amp;R!**


	5. Moonlit Meetings

**At last we see the chosen in informant. Is it who you thought it was going to be?**

* * *

Three days after his last lesson with Harry, Severus could be found in his office packing a satchel. He had made up his mind: tonight he would speak to his chosen informant. He only hoped the exchange proved…enlightening. To his annoyance, because of the pink toad's monitoring of the Floo Network, Severus needed to travel outside the grounds to Apparate. Fate, it seemed, was conspiring to make every job he had to do just a little more difficult. Securing the last potion bottle, Severus shouldered the bag and made his way to the gate.

As he walked through the darkness he noticed the lights of Hagrid's cabin winking in the distance. From what Severus had been told, his mission to ally with the giants could not exactly be hailed as a laudable success. Severus had suspected it wouldn't the instant he had learned that two Death Eaters had been dispatched to make a similar but considerably more, shall we say, libertarian offer. And who would honestly expect that the giants, who had never received anything from Wizarding society, would be motivated to defend it. But that was Dumbledore. Ever the believer in hidden good.

Severus at last reached the edge of the grounds and immediately turned on the spot, vanishing with a crack. He reappeared in a remote country field in Yorkshire. A couple yards away a figure in a grey cloak was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree. The figure rose as soon as Severus turned towards him and approached.

"Evening, Severus. What day did Dumbledore officially christen us the Order of the Phoenix?"

"October 3rd. Here." Severus held out the satchel.

Remus Lupin smiled. "Thanks very much, Severus."

It had been Dumbledore's idea to keep supplying Remus with Wolfsbane even after his resignation. The headmaster felt that, given Remus' likely role as mediator between the Order and the werewolves of Britain, it be essential that he keep his human mind during his transformations lest he succumb to the pack mentality while in wolf form. Severus suspected that the headmaster also considered it just atonement since it was Severus who had driven the final nail in the coffin on Remus' career at Hogwarts.

The security question Remus asked was different each time. It was an unspoken agreement between the two that when it came to delivering things like potions that could so easily be tampered with the utmost caution was necessary. Should the Dark Lord discover the arrangement, Severus would answer the question correctly but give Remus a covert signal that all was not well. Remus would take the potions but never drink them.

"Remember, take the first tonight and the rest twice a day," Severus instructed.

Remus smiled patiently. Severus had given these directions every time he delivered the potions, but Remus was so grateful that he did deliver them that he couldn't rightly comment on something so trivial.

"Thank you, Severus. Would you care for tea or anything before you go?" And that was Lupin. Ever the peacemaker.

"Actually, I would," Severus replied, inwardly smirking at the look of shock that passed over Remus' face when his offer was actually accepted.

"Oh! I…of course, Severus, please." Remus extended a hand, indicating Severus should follow him. Soon enough Severus found himself in Remus' cottage. Everything was clearly secondhand but the place was fastidiously tidy. Remus had his own points of pride, after all. Remus led the way to the kitchen and opened a cupboard.

"Earl Grey, Severus?"

"Actually, Lupin, you can skip the tea. I need to have a word with you."

Remus abruptly aborted his search for mugs and turned sharply. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing of the kind you're thinking of. I'd like to speak to you about Potter."

"Harry?"

"Yes, of course, Lupin, what other Potter is there!" Snape snapped impatiently, before realizing what he had just implied. The look of hurt that passed over Lupin's face almost made him apologize. Almost.

Getting right to the point, Severus continued, "I am curious as to what Potter has said to you about his home life."

"He hasn't said anything. Why? Is something the matter?"

"He hasn't said anything?" Snape repeated skeptically. "He never mentioned his family during all those cozy tête-a-têtes in your office?"

Remus frowned. "No. He was more concerned about the dementors. Why? What is it?"

"I have begun Potter's Occlumency lessons and I have seen things in his mind that...require attention."

"What things?" Remus asked sharply.

Severus proceeded to relate everything he had learned, starting with Potter's revelation about the cupboard under the stairs to his torment by his cousin. By the end of his narration Remus was slumped against the counter, looking more beaten down than Severus had ever seen him.

"My God!" he breathed. "I had no idea!"

"Lupin, think! Has Potter said anything, mentioned _anything_, to Black or yourself about his family?"

"No! Sirius would have said something. And…wait…yes, there was something but I didn't pay attention to it at the time…"

"What?"

"When we went to pick him up during the summer I told Harry that I left a letter for his aunt and uncle informing them that he was safe. He said it would just upset them and asked if he had to go back."

"And you didn't think anything of that?"

"We were trying to get him out of there, and then later we were bringing him up to date on Voldemort. I thought he was just being a teenager…" Remus turned away, apparently aware how weak this defense sounded.

Severus had never been so frustrated in his life. He had been certain Remus, as one of James Potter's closest friends, would have the answers he wanted. And yet it appeared that he was as clueless as anyone. Given that it was impossible for Black to be discreet about anything that must mean the mutt knew nothing either. Grasping at straws, Severus tried again.

"What about in his letters to you and Black? Did anything sound odd?"

"We…haven't written to each other since I resigned. And Sirius hasn't written since Dumbledore advised against it."

"Dear Merlin!" Severus finally exclaimed. "Has _anybody_ parented this boy!"

Remus whirled around, raising an eyebrow. "Severus, _you_ can hardly plead the moral high ground here."

"I was bullied by his father for seven years! What's your excuse?"

"Everyone who had ever mattered to me was gone! And you think the Ministry would ever let a werewolf have a child! Have the Boy-Who-Lived! And then Sirius returned and I thought they…should have a chance to bond."

"And Black was in Azkaban because he decided to chase Pettigrew, and since then his attempts at _bonding_ seem to have left something to be desired." Severus folded his arms. "Well…it seems everybody has an excuse when it comes to Potter, haven't they?"

Remus was silent for so long Severus began to consider leaving him to pout, but then Remus spoke up at last.

"Maybe I should talk to Sirius."

"You really think that's…wise?" Severus drawled.

"He's his godfather. He has a right to know."

Severus scoffed. "Do as you see fit, Lupin. But I would like to point out that this is a situation that requires tact and a level head." Severus' tone made it clear that he believed Sirius possessed neither of these important qualities.

Remus sighed.

"And," Severus continued, "you can't hide behind Black forever."

Remus' head snapped up, glaring. Severus unapologetically returned the look. He expected Remus to drop his gaze, but instead Remus straightened up.

"Thank you for telling me about this, Severus. I'll write to Harry. Perhaps see if I can't pay a visit soon."

"Very well. I must return to Hogwarts." Severus headed for the door. Remus followed him.

"I hope you realize, Severus," Remus said, "that just because you've involved me doesn't mean you can hide behind me either."

Severus' hand hesitated for only a moment as he reached for the doorknob. "No," he replied without looking back. "I don't suppose I can." And with a whirl of black robes he was gone.

* * *

**Poor Sev! Nothing goes his way.**


	6. Lightning Strikes

His talk with Fred and George had left Harry feeling, if not better, at least more settled. He was able to get through the next few days in a fairly calm mood. Although some of that might be his new practice. Harry dutifully set aside an hour each night to try to clear his mind, and in all honestly he was starting to feel a little more hopeful about his progress. Not that he was clearing his mind by any stretch of the imagination; if anything, doing this made Harry realize how full his head could be even in the space of a few seconds. It was quite dizzying. However, on Sunday Harry had felt that he had something like a breakthrough. He thought he felt an odd jerk, almost like his mind was a stick shift and he had changed gears. His mind hadn't gone blank, but it was like Harry was viewing it from a distance, just an indistinct swirl of light and color. Unfortunately, this had only lasted a couple minutes at most. And that estimate might be a little generous. Still, when Harry finally rose from his cross-legged position and stretched to work out the resulting kinks, he had decided to consider it progress.

When Monday morning dawned, Harry was startled to realize that his dreams had been different as well. Ever since the attack on Mr. Weasley, Harry hated dreaming about running down the dark corridor. It used to be that as he dreamt he would feel determined, eager to reach whatever was behind the door at the end. Now, even in his dreams, Harry couldn't get rid of the lingering sense of horror and disgust, especially since he knew now that those old feelings were probably Voldemort's. Harry didn't want to share anything with him, and definitely not his sick, twisted emotions.

But last night Harry had not dreamt about the corridor, or indeed about anything specific. Instead, he kept dreaming of bright white light. He wasn't sure if he had been looking for something, or if he was walking or floating. He was only conscious of moving towards the light. Having to keep a dream diary for Trelawney was starting to make Harry accomplished in writing down his dreams quickly in the morning. He hastily scribbled it down and then began his morning routine, pausing only to throw a pillow at Ron's head as an alarm.

"G'way," Ron mumbled, turning over. "Hat'days."

Having lived with Ron for four and a half years now, Harry could easily translate his 'morningese.' "I hate Mondays too, Ron, but the sooner you get up the sooner we can eat."

That at least resulted in movement. Harry couldn't really blame Ron for his reluctance. A day of History of Magic, then double Potions, then Divination, then double Defense Against the Umbridge Toad never promised to be the best day.

When they reached the Great Hall, Hermione waved them down, looking tense, a copy of the Daily Prophet open in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, praying it wasn't another article about him and his alleged million and one mental disorders.

"There's been a breakout at Azkaban," Hermione whispered gravely, without preamble. "Look, they tried squeezing the article off to the side here and Fudge is quoted giving some ridiculous cover story. But it's obvious what happened."

She, Harry, and Ron exchanged looks. "When was this?" Harry asked, also whispering.

"Last Thursday. And they're just now informing people. Honestly-" Hermione began a heated although quiet rant about Ministry incompetence.

But Harry wasn't exactly listening. Last Thursday…his Occlumency lesson…that's right, he had felt that odd jolt of happiness. He hadn't thought of it since because of the Calming Draught. But now…

"That's why!" Harry exclaimed.

"Why what?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food. Apparently he wasn't going to allow a breakout to interfere with his nourishment.

"On Thursday after I left Snape's office," Harry lowered his voice so that the other two had to lean toward him to hear, "I felt this sudden, weird feeling of happiness. And my scar hurt again. This," he tapped the newspaper, "must be why! He was happy because he got his old followers back."

"Blimey, Harry!" said Ron. "Do you realize what this means? You're reading his mind! Maybe you can tell when he's going to do things."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "I don't think we should encourage this. Harry's supposed to be learning to block the connection, remember?"

"Guys!" Harry snapped. His voice was still low but it cut through the potential argument like a knife. "Not the time and place," he said, glancing around the Great Hall.

Ron and Hermione looked around too, suddenly wary. "Sorry," Hermione mumbled.

"Don't worry about it," Harry whispered back. "We'll talk about it later."

"Sure thing, mate," Ron said through a mouthful of potatoes.

Hermione graciously restored normal conversation by rebuking Ron for his atrocious table manners, Harry looking on fondly.

History of Magic was as boring as ever. Hermione, as always, was occupied in writing notes so quickly Harry was surprised smoke wasn't rising from her quill. Ron and several others snored softly in their chairs. After tapping his fingers on his book for ten minutes Harry decided to put the time to good use by practicing his Occlumency. If anything could help lull him into an emotionless stupor, it was Professor Binns' droning. Harry closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to find his center. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale…

Harry started to feel himself drift and allowed it to happen. He really was getting better at this. Professor Binns' voice and the ubiquitous tappings, creakings, and sighs of the other students all blended together as background noise. Harry started becoming more and more aware of his insides: the feeling of air moving in his throat and lungs, his heartbeat…that annoying almost cramp in his lower back. Harry huffed in frustration and shifted his position. And inhale. And exhale…

For what felt like forever Harry sat, eyes closed, trying to clear his mind, refocusing himself when he was distracted by some sensation or sound. Just as he was starting to wonder if he should give it up, Harry felt something odd, like he was going to shift again. Finally! Harry let himself detach and once again he seemed to withdraw, watching the swirls and colors. It was interesting. Everything flowed and swooped. It was like a dance.

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry felt someone grip his shoulder and startled, looking around in alarm. Professor Binns was still going on about some ancient battle. Harry blinked, feeling strange, and his eyes focused on Hermione, who was regarding him with concern.

"Are you okay?" she whispered warily.

"Yeah. Fine. I was just doing the meditation thing," Harry replied, puzzled.

"Oh, well," Hermione said, withdrawing her hand but still looking concerned. "You were swaying."

"I was?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe your scar was hurting or something."

Harry shook his head. "No, it wasn't. I just got really into it."

"All right. If you're sure…" Hermione still seemed a little reluctant to drop the subject.

"I'm sure, Hermione. It wasn't my scar, honest. Actually, I think I'm starting to get somewhere with this practicing!"

At last, Hermione smiled. "Oh, Harry, that's great! Maybe you can tell Professor Snape!"

"Maybe." It felt a bit odd to want to brag to Snape about an accomplishment. But as the fifth years packed up and began the trek down to the dungeons, Harry found that he wasn't completely dreading Potions.

The dungeons were as bleak as ever. Harry wondered, for the first time, if Snape liked it down here. He supposed so. Otherwise Snape's office wouldn't have the exact same look. As Harry took his seat, Snape swept into the room with his usual and unique menace, inspiring instant silence. Harry thought he saw Snape's eyes linger on him for a moment, but the next second he was sure he had imagined it, because Snape walked right past him without the slightest indication that he realized Harry was there.

"Today," he announced, "you shall be brewing two potions instead of one."

Nearly everyone in the class seemed to shrink a couple inches, although no one dared groan aloud.

"The first," Snape continued as though he hadn't noticed, "shall be the Wound Healing Concoction." Snape promptly pulled out his wand and flicked it at the board, causing the directions to appear, "It only takes about ten minutes to prepare. Or at least it should." He glared pointedly at the class. "The second-" another flick "-is the Glacies Sanguinem, or Fire Protection Potion. This potion, likewise, is less time-consuming than many, less than an hour. Half an hour for those that are actually _competent_."

Snape faced the class. "The reason for brewing more than one potion today is twofold: first, it will require time management, something that you will need not only when brewing for your O.W.L.s but in the real world. Potions that are used for healing, like the first, are often needed quickly, and spending more time than necessary can have serious consequences. Second, this shall serve as a lesson in the proper cleaning of _all_ your tools and instruments _thoroughly_ between brewings. Should any residue linger, the second potion will be corrupted and spoiled.

"You shall begin with the Wound Healing Concoction. As you can see, the ingredients include one phoenix feather. The Headmaster's phoenix has graciously donated a supply; however, there are only enough for one feather for each of you, so do not think you can start over. Be warned, I will not remind you when it is time to move onto the second, so pay attention. You may begin."

Harry joined the mad dash for the feathers, and was one of the first there. He had Dudley's Harry Hunting pastime to thank for that. Harry snatched up two feathers for Ron and Hermione as well; he didn't trust people like Malfoy not to try to take two. Once the three of them had their feathers, Harry took a few moments to carefully read the directions several times as he organized his ingredients. He was determined: he was going to _prove_ to Snape that he could do this.

He set to work with a vengeance, keeping one eye on his watch. Before Harry knew it, the class hit the ten-minute mark. Hermione, of course, was picking up her ladle and vial to bottle her potion right on the dot. Harry glanced into his own cauldron. To his relief, his potion seemed to be the proper royal blue color. Exhaling a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Harry added the lavender oil and stepped back to let the potion sit a moment. If it turned purple, he was in the clear.

"Trying to make an effort, are we, Potter?" came Snape's silky voice.

Harry looked up to find Snape standing right behind him. How did he do that?

"Actually, sir, I think our Remedial work is starting to pay off." Harry put a light emphasis on this statement, wondering if Snape would pick up on his hint.

Snape merely tilted his head. "We'll know if this swill of yours turns the proper color, which looks unlikely. Get back to work, if you're capable of doing so!"

With that, Snape stalked off toward the Slytherin side of the class. Harry blinked, blindsided. He was trying to get along, and this is all he got?! Fuming, Harry turned back to his potion to find it was already a rich purple. _Ha! In your face, dungeon bat!_ Wait a minute. Wouldn't Snape have seen this?

Shaking his head, Harry brought himself back to the task at hand. At least Snape hadn't vanished his potion this time. Harry quickly decanted it into a large vial and set it aside.

"Hermione," he whispered. "What's the proper wand movement for Vanishing Spells again?"

"Like this," she replied, demonstrating.

Harry vanished his Wound Cleaning Concoction and promptly got started on the Glacies Sanguinem. He glanced at his potions book. _A potion that allows the drinker to pass unscathed through fire._ Harry wondered if this is what he drank in first year when going after the Philosopher's Stone. It sounded like it. Harry scrubbed his instruments (_thoroughly_, he thought with a smirk) and set to work.

Towards the end of class, Harry was pleased to see that his potion was the proper jet black. Snape had for the most part left him alone, except for a few snide comments here and there. It wasn't pleasant, but it didn't have the same bite that some of their other interactions had in the past. At the moment, the bat-like professor was prowling around the classroom, harshly rebuking everyone that had dallied too long and had incomplete potions. Harry corked both his own vials feeling quite proud of himself, and placed them both on Snape's desk.

As the class fled the dungeon, Harry found himself hanging back, for reasons even he wasn't entirely certain of. Ron and Hermione hung back as well, waiting for him just outside the door. Snape glanced up at him from where he stood at his desk examining the vials.

"So," he said. "You feel you are making progress in our Remedial lessons?"

So he had gotten it. "Yes, sir, I think so," Harry replied.

Snape nodded, still focusing on the vials. "Good. Well, get going, then, Potter."

Harry joined Ron and Hermione, calling himself an idiot for wanting Snape's praise. Still, he couldn't deny it felt quite good.

Ron, for his part, looked as though Percy had announced his resignation from the Ministry. "Honestly, Harry," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can handle this new Snape."

"He wasn't that different," Harry pointed out.

"Maybe not during class, but that-" Ron gestured back toward the dungeon door "-that was just weird."

"Well," said Hermione primly. "I think it's quite nice."

"You would."

"I don't care if it's weird," Harry interjected. "As long as he's not breathing down my neck in class for the rest of the year, I'll take it."

Harry's good feelings lasted until he and Ron reached the Divination classroom, and were assaulted by the usual smells of incense and tea leaves. As Harry had feared, Professor Trelawney descended on his dream diary as soon as everyone was seated. Harry had an inkling he knew what was coming, and braced himself. Sure enough…

"Oh, my dear! You have seen the light! The gateway to the afterlife!" Professor Trelawney laid a hand dramatically to her heart. "For years now, the Shadow has stalked you. And now it looms ever closer…"

Harry stopped listening. Eventually, Professor Trelawney wandered off to the next table to harass someone else. Ron began idly flipping pages in the textbook. With Professor Trelawney so close, Harry and Ron still had to make a show of listening. Harry sat with his head propped on his hand, staring at one of the incense burners. It was interesting that smoke curled like that. It was almost like what he saw now when he meditated. Harry had a sudden idea. He focused on the swirls of smoke, letting the lazy movement lull him, and felt himself drifting. His vision seemed to invert and he was suddenly observing his own mind. The colors were starting to swirl and curve like the smoke. Harry could feel it. He was almost there. He was going to pop apart—

"My dear!"

Harry jumped. Looking up he found himself face to bulbous-eyed face with Trelawney.

"My dear boy!" she exclaimed again. "What have you beheld?"

Harry blinked. "Beheld?"

"Don't be modest, dear." Trelawney patted his head, making him feel like a dog. "You were swaying in a trance. This is the second time I have seen you open your mind to the wondrous depths of the Inner Eye! Please, share with the class what has been revealed to you!"

"Uhhh…" Harry glanced at Ron, but he was smirking and clearly not going to help. "I…I don't remember, professor," Harry said. "The – the psychic vibrations in the room just seemed to get to me for a moment."

"Oh." Trelawney withdrew, disappointed. "Never mind, dear. The Inner Eye is a fickle and difficult gift. It takes years of discipline and experience to be able to navigate the intricate nuances of the Sight. But never fear, my dear child, I shall guide you."

And to Harry's disgust, Professor Trelawney stayed by him for the rest of the class, orbiting him like an annoying mosquito, trying to coax him back into resonating with the clairvoyant vibes. Ron managed to keep his laughter silent, but his ribs looked to be in serious danger of unhinging from his spine.

Still, it was a more interesting class than Defense Against the Dark Arts nowadays. The class no longer even waited for Umbridge's instructions; they all just opened their books and started reading. Or pretending too. Harry suspected that he was one of the few actually reading the book in front of him, but that was only because it wasn't Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard. Exasperated with such an utter waste of time, Hermione had transfigured several of her books to look like the text, and Harry had immediately asked her to do the same for his meditation books. Technically, he was still learning to defend himself from the Dark Arts, just not in the way Umbridge thought.

Harry bent over the book, skimming the introduction, and paused when he came to the fourth paragraph.

_Many beginning students mistakenly assume that 'mediation' refers to one specific practice. In fact, it refers to a family of activities, each of which has a specific goal, such as increasing awareness of one's own internal state to cultivating a compassionate attitude._

Harry tilted his head, feeling mildly intrigued.

_The common interest and the individual interest are not separate, but linked. Individual freedom and rights are essential in that they bring about individual creativity. And yet the individual could not survive without the community. Different cultures and dogmas may create divisions, but this is not in itself a negative outcome. Disagreement is part of the human experience; it is only when such disagreement engenders violence that the individual and the community suffer. Because of our human intelligence we have the capacity to settle conflicts without war and violence, and hence it is our responsibility to do so._

Harry snorted. Settling things without violence would be great. Too bad Voldemort never learned to meditate.

"_Hem hem_. Something amuses you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry didn't raise his head. "No, professor."

"Look at me when I speak to you, Mr. Potter!"

Slowly, with visible defiance, Harry dragged his eyes upward until he met Umbridge's glare with his own. Her loathsome sickly sweet smile spread across her face.

"Is it possible that you have some issue with Mr. Slinkhard, Mr. Potter?"

"No. None."

"Then perhaps you can tell the class what he says about how to proceed when challenged for a duel?"

"I don't know, invite Voldemort to tea and hope he likes biscuits?"

_"Harry!"_ Hermione whispered pleadingly, while the class looked on, some wary, others uncertain.

Umbridge's smile remained on her face. "I see," she said slowly, "that your previous detentions have made little impact on you. I have attempted to rid you of this disturbing tendency to use the death of another student to inflate your own self-worth, however-"

Rage exploded in Harry's chest like an inferno, and he was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. "Oh, yeah, cause I'm the liar when you're the ones pretending like Cedric just keeled over from a heart attack so Fudge doesn't have to grow a pair and-"

_"Silencio!"_ Umbridge shrieked, her smile gone. "Detention, Potter," she hissed. "And this time we'll see if we can't let the message…sink in…a little more."

True to her word, Umbridge kept Harry in detention for four hours that night, though his hand was bleeding steadily in a quarter of that time. Tuesday night and Wednesday night were the same. Hermione and Ron said little, perhaps realizing that there was nothing they could really say. Ron contented himself with calling Umbridge all kinds of names that would have appalled Mrs. Weasley while Hermione, with a look that could have been either frustration or pity, dutifully prepared the Murtlap Essence every night.

Harry's only relief was that he didn't have to attend detention on Thursday thanks to his lesson with Snape. He was certain that Umbridge only let him off for this because of her confidence that Snape would make Harry just as miserable as she wished. And when Harry arrived for his lesson he wondered if she was right, because Snape looked extremely irritated. Instead of rising as he usually did so they could stand opposite each other, he remained seated behind his desk and wordlessly pointed Harry to a chair.

"So pleased you could make it, Potter," he drawled. "Though I am not sure what good it will do since I'm sure you couldn't practice your exercises while in detention."

"Actually, sir," Harry said with as much coldness as he could muster, "I practiced every night."

This was true: in defiance of all, Harry stuck to his routine, though not for the best reasons perhaps. He was now able to pop apart every time he meditated, and it allowed him a much needed escape from the anger and throbbing pain he was experiencing.

"I see," Snape said. "Then will you at least explain to me why you felt the need to make a spectacle of yourself in her class? Do you enjoy sitting in detention every night?"

"She had it coming. I wasn't just going to sit there," Harry snapped.

Snape gazed at the boy before him with apparent distaste. "You have no subtlety, Potter. You have yet to master your anger, nor learn its use as a weapon."

"What was I supposed to do? She's standing talking about Cedric like his death meant nothing, like the whole thing didn't happen, like-!"

"Like what you endured meant nothing."

"Yes! I-!" Harry stopped, confused.

"That's it, isn't it?" Snape continued. "It enrages you to be so dismissed…to be overlooked as if the pain you have experienced is unimportant."

Harry thought. Was that it? Was he angry, not for Cedric, but himself? And if so, wasn't he being selfish?

"Tell me, Potter." Snape steepled his fingers, peering over them at Harry. "Why do you think you were victorious at the graveyard?"

The question took Harry off-guard. "Well, our wands linked…"

Snape waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. Before that."

"Before that I was tied to the headstone. Then he freed me, and used the Cruciatus Curse on me, and then…"

Snape held up a finger, making Harry pause. "There. Repeat that."

"I…I was tied up…and he freed me…" It took Harry a second to get it. "He freed me?"

"Precisely," Snape said, his face twisting in a sardonic smile. "Like Umbridge, he dismissed you. Surely you, a fourteen-year-old boy, could be no threat to him. Surely, after torturing you, you could not have the energy to fight. Surely he had nothing to fear. You see, Potter? There is power in being underestimated. I am confident that in time, Umbridge will come to see this as the Dark Lord did. Or would, if his pride allowed him to. But only if you use it to your advantage. Do you understand?"

"I think so. But how?"

"Wait. Wait and an opportunity will present itself."

Harry was silent.

"Now." Snape rose to his feet. "You claimed you were making progress, and I expect you to prove it. Stand up."

Harry did so, readying himself. Snape pointed his wand at him, and as usual Harry became lost in a whirl of memories. This time, though, Harry found it easier to ignore, trying to distance himself. He succeeded and soon was watching the familiar dance. Only this time there was something new: a dark thread that seemed to be intertwined with the usual blues, oranges, reds, and yellows, dragging them along. It was messing up the usual gentle swirls. Annoyed, Harry wished it would go away. Abruptly the thread retreated, and Harry was pulled with it back to reality. Snape was glaring at him.

"This is what you call progress, Potter?"

Harry blinked, confused.

"You offered no resistance whatsoever," Snape continued. "I was sifting through your memories with absurd ease, Potter!"

"But…" Harry was confused. "But I popped apart."

"Popped apart?" Snape repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. In my meditation lately I've been able to…to retreat. Like I'm watching my thoughts from a distance. I thought I was supposed to be doing that!"

Snape seemed to be considering. "It is true that you did not seem to react emotionally as you usually do. But that is not the point, Potter. The point is to ward your mind against penetration in the first place. Not to 'retreat' and allow your attacker free access."

"Oh." Harry slumped in disappointment. He had been so sure he was getting somewhere.

"We shall try again," Snape said. "Your technique does, I grant, allow you to control your emotions. However, you must also discipline your mind. Show me only what you wish to be seen. Get ready! _Legilimens!_"

Harry was submerged in memory once again. He tried pushing against the memories, but it wasn't working. The crazy reel continued: running from Dudley's gang, seeing Dobby in his room, hearing people accuse him of being the heir of Slytherin. Frustrated and upset, Harry let himself drift again and again felt calm, separate from the chaos. He just wanted to get away from all this. There had to be some way to make this work! Harry concentrated. Maybe if he went deeper? Harry began to follow the threads, trying to find their source. Maybe he could stop them. The whirl of colors continued. Harry continued to dive down underneath them, deeper and deeper…

_Bathump!_

What was that?

_Bathump!_

His heart?

_Bathump!_

No, not quite, but it was connected to it. It was something…something he could touch. It was…

Suddenly, light exploded across his vision. Harry gasped; every nerve in his body seemed to seize and spasm. Then everything went dark.


	7. Seven Circles

**Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody! Sorry for the long delay, especially after a cliffy. I had some technical difficulties with the site. The good news is I am back, and updates will be more regular. **

* * *

Harry wondered if he was back in the deep waters of the lake. He felt like he was swimming. Was he in the middle of the Second Task? Everything around him was murky and out of focus. Harry tried to raise his hands to see whether or not he had webbed fingers but found, to his alarm, that he couldn't make his arms obey him. That was when he realized that his body not only felt heavy but ached. What was going on? Harry tried once again to move and groaned.

"Ah, I think he's coming round. Here now, Potter, drink this."

Harry's head was tipped up by someone's hand and a potion was poured into his mouth. Harry swallowed, and then continued to gulp after it was down to get rid of the sensation of it. While not particularly bad tasting, the texture was slimy, like swallowing a mouthful of fish eggs. But it worked quickly; Harry soon felt better. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up into Madame Pomfrey's blurry face. His glasses were missing.

"You're awake," Madame Pomfrey announced as though Harry weren't aware of this. "And high time too. I don't mind telling you it's been hours. I'm not even going to ask what you were doing this time. Something you shouldn't, I'll be bound."

Harry wanted to deny this, but he couldn't immediately remember what he had been doing. Madame Pomfrey took advantage of his silence to feel his forehead and wrist and pull down his lower eyelids to examine the whites of his eyes.

"Well," she said. "You seem to be tolerably in one piece. I'm going to fetch a couple more potions. I hope I can trust you not to further damage yourself in this bed, at least? Fine. Don't move."

She bustled away, muttering about teenagers and recklessness and putting a permanent cushioning charm on Harry's head. Harry glanced at the bedside table on his left, hoping to locate his glasses.

"Explain something to me, Potter."

Harry jumped so badly the bed squeaked. Looking to his right he found Professor Snape in all his vampiric glory.

"Why is it that your greatest magical talent is self-injury?"

"What?" Harry replied dumbly.

Snape was standing with his arms folded across his chest, an expression of utmost exasperation on his face. "Why is it," he continued, "that whenever you set out to do a task, no matter that it requires no movement whatsoever, you will find a way to get hurt?"

Harry blinked, confused. "I…what did I do?"

Snape sighed. "You came to my office for your lesson, and you were trying out this new 'popping apart' exercise of yours. On our second attempt you managed to drive me out, yes, but you also collapsed. I thought you were having a seizure for a moment, but you went still. Then I brought you here."

As Snape explained, Harry's memory started to return. That's right, he had been following the threads…and he had found…

"I tried popping apart again," Harry spoke slowly, organizing his thoughts as he talked. "But you were right, it wasn't working…everything was still flowing. I thought maybe I could stop it if I found the source so I went deeper. But I found…" Harry stopped.

"You found what?" Snape prompted.

"A…" Harry considered. "A…wheel."

"A wheel," Snape repeated dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. All the threads were connected to it. It was swirling." Harry made a circular motion with his finger to demonstrate.

Snape considered Harry's words, frowning. "I don't know what you saw, Potter," he said. "But I'm going to recommend that we increase our lessons to twice a week."

"Increase our lessons?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Yes," Snape said. "Clearly something unusual is occurring, and with you involved that can only mean disaster if not handled properly."

"I can handle it!" Harry protested.

Snape fixed narrowed eyes upon him. "Like you handled it in my office?"

Unable to defend himself, Harry settled for sighing.

"And," Snape continued, "from now on I don't want you trying this popping apart again unless I am present."

"But-"

"No 'buts.' Whatever you did, it caused enough havoc to render you unconscious for several hours. You will not try it again on your own. Understood?" Snape fixed Harry with his infamous glare.

"Fine," Harry conceded, biting back the urge to say something sarcastic.

Snape continued his glare for a moment to drive home the point, and then nodded. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to consult with the headmaster, and I believe your posse is waiting impatiently outside."

Snape swept away from the bed, opening the doors. He had to step aside, however, for the veritable stampede that was Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, racing up to the bed. "Are you okay? I know you were with Professor Snape, but then you gone for so long, and it was getting late, and you didn't come back, and then we got worried, and I know it was after hours, but we went down to Snape's office, but he wasn't there, and then-"

"As you can see, Harry," Fred interrupted, grinning, "Hermione wasn't worried about you at all."

Hermione folded her arms, looking very put out. "I was just telling him what happened!"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said. "But it's okay, practice just got kind of intense." Harry wasn't sure why he was being so circumspect; after all, it wasn't like Snape didn't know exactly what happened. He supposed it was just old habits kicking in.

"So how come you fainted?" Fred asked.

"I didn't faint!"

"Right, sorry," George said sarcastically. "So how come you passed out in a very manly way?"

"I just told you, practice got intense. Everything's fine."

"Well, we're just glad you're okay, Harry," Hermione said in her mothering voice.

"We thought Snape might have finally done you in, mate!" Ron said loudly.

"Given Potter's trouble-making tendencies, Mr. Weasley," came Snape's voice, making Ron's ears flush scarlet, "'doing him in' would probably require no effort whatsoever. But, as you can see, the Boy-Who-Lived stubbornly lives yet, and unless all of you want to be in detention for the next week, you will come with me back to your dormitory immediately."

"Can't we just-"

"_Immediately_, Miss Granger!"

Defeated, the group began to file out, though Fred and George still looked mutinous.

"See you at breakfast, Harry!" Ron called back.

Harry flopped back against the pillows, exhaling a heavy sigh as Madame Pomfrey returned with another potion. Why couldn't things ever be simple?

* * *

Unbeknownst to Harry, his thoughts were mirrored exactly by one Severus Snape.

"A wheel, you say?" Dumbledore was saying as he stroked Fawkes slowly. "Those were his exact words?"

"Yes," Severus responded curtly. After dropping off Potter's cronies, and removing ten points from Gryffindor, Severus had made his way directly to the headmaster's office, relieved to find him still awake.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, turning to look over the books on his shelves.

"Do you know what it means?" Severus demanded impatiently. It was late, and he was in no mood for riddles.

"Not exactly, Severus," Dumbledore replied, unconcerned by the younger man's tone. "But I begin to wonder…have you ever studied the theories of magical energy?"

"Only briefly. Are you referring to the ancient texts that describe the magical core?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore pulled a large tome off a shelf and placed it on his desk. "Although cores, plural, would be more accurate. What do you recall?"

"Very little. Only that it is believed that a witch or wizard's energy converges at and flows from the core. It's the source of our magic."

"Precisely," Dumbledore replied as he flipped pages. "Ah, here."

Dumbledore pointed to an illuminated page, and Severus leaned over to take a look. The illustration depicted the outline of a person in a spread-eagle posture. From the base of the spine to the crown of the head, a series of circles were drawn. From these circles, lines radiated to every extremity, resembling nerves. The illustration had been enchanted so that the circles seemed to spin and flow into each other.

Severus stared at the drawing. "You're saying that Potter…_saw_ his magical core?"

"I suspect so. One of them at least."

"But," Severus shook his head, "but what does this mean? I've never heard of anything like this!"

"No, I imagine not." Dumbledore was still looking down at the picture. "This is considered a philosophical area of study. Scholars thought it had little practical application."

"Until now," Severus groused. He could feel a headache coming on. "Well, what do we do now?"

"I would like to meet with Harry," Dumbledore said, closing the book.

Severus looked at him in shock. "I thought you said that was unwise."

"I did not mean regularly, Severus. But I do wish to speak with him about what exactly he saw and provide my speculations. As you've pointed out, it's unclear exactly what is happening to Harry. We'll need to keep a close eye on him." Dumbledore turned to Severus. "That being said, Severus, I know you will not like this, but I believe it would be best if you were to increase your meetings with Harry."

Severus scoffed. "I know that. I've already informed Potter of the fact."

"Have you now?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, the twinkle in his eyes stronger than ever.

Not liking what Dumbledore was implying, Severus crossed his arms. "I merely want to make sure he doesn't blow himself up! Knowing Potter, that's a distinct possibility."

"Of course, Severus, very prudent of you," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Also, I believe you should take this." He held out the tome. "As you will continue to teach Harry, it will be best if you're as well versed in what may be happening as possible."

Severus suppressed a sigh. How typical. Potter takes extra lessons and he, Severus, gets homework.

"And now," Dumbledore continued. "I think we had both best get some rest. If you would be so kind as to bring Harry here tomorrow morning before breakfast, I will see him then. I think we should address this as soon as possible."

Severus nodded and left, making his way back to his quarters as quickly as possible, book in hand. Unable to help himself, he started reading that same night.

* * *

Harry was woken early by Madame Pomfrey the next morning. "Professor Snape is here. He says you're to accompany him to see the headmaster."

"Dumbledore wants to see me?" Harry could hardly believe it. He'd started to think Dumbledore wouldn't want anything to do with him ever again.

"Apparently. Now hold still." Madame Pomfrey examined him thoroughly, and then waved her wand over him. "You seem to be back to normal. How do you feel?"

"Fine," Harry replied.

"Hmm." She eyed him narrowly. "Do try to keep it that way, won't you? Your clothes are behind the screen.

As Harry dressed he wondered what Dumbledore wanted to see him about. No doubt it had to do with his collapse in Snape's office. Would Dumbledore have answers? And if he did, would he even share them? Harry felt a stirring of apprehension. The last time he'd been in Dumbledore's office had been right after Harry had the vision about Mr. Weasley. Harry remembered all too well the hateful urge he'd had to attack the headmaster. What if he experienced that again? What if he couldn't control it? Ginny's words had reassured him that he wasn't being possessed, but still…weird things happened around him, if what happened just last night was any indication. Harry didn't know what to think anymore.

"Potter!" Snape's voice called. "Hurry up, the headmaster is already waiting."

Harry finished tying his shoe, and emerged. "Morning, professor."

Snape jerked his head in what Harry supposed was supposed to be a return greeting, and then swept out of the hospital wing, Harry on his heels. Snape had a large, heavy-looking book in his hands. As they walked, Harry reached up and started his usual battle of trying to make his hair lay flat.

Snape glanced at him. "Even I can tell you that's a lost cause, Potter."

Harry snorted. A night's sleep has done much for restoring his newfound good will towards the stern Potions Master. "Don't you have a potion or something that could fix this, sir?"

"There aren't enough ingredients in the world, Potter."

Harry hummed in agreement.

"Actually," Snape continued. "Your father was quite enamored with his hair, back in the day."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes. He was always running his fingers through it. Seemed to think the bedhead look was cool." He said the word 'cool' like it was the worst of labels. "When James Potter's hands went for his hair, you always knew there were girls nearby."

Harry snorted. Snape had never talked about his father so civilly, and it was a nice change. Every time someone mentioned James Potter it was always to say how remarkable or talented he had been. Harry found he liked hearing these small, human details.

"So did it work?" Harry asked, grinning.

Snape gave him a look. "I wouldn't know, Potter, I was always too disgusted to watch."

They reached the gargoyle and Snape gave the password ("Fainting Fancy"). Harry felt his stomach knot up again as they stepped on the ascending spiral staircase. As they entered the office, Dumbledore turned to greet them.

"Ah, Harry. I'm glad to see you. Lemon drop?"

Harry blinked, a bit taken aback by such a casual greeting. He didn't know what he'd expected but…not this.

"No, thank you, professor."

"Have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to poofy chairs across from his desk. As Harry did so, Fawkes the phoenix soared from his perch to land on Harry's knee, trilling softly in greeting. Harry felt some of his tension ease.

"Hi, Fawkes." He stroked the phoenix's silky plumage. Fawkes fluffed his feathers, apparently enjoying the attention.

"It seems Fawkes has missed you, Harry," Dumbledore commented.

It crossed Harry's mind to say that the same couldn't be said for Dumbledore. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, and so said nothing. Dumbledore seemed to get the unspoken message, however.

"As have I," he said. "I hope you understand, Harry, that my lack of communication this year has nothing to do with anything you've done."

It didn't? Harry looked up at him, and to his surprise Dumbledore actually met his eyes. Harry tensed, waiting to feel the snake inside him…and felt nothing. That was a relief, at least.

"With the negative attention I have been receiving," Dumbledore continued, looking at him seriously, "I believed it would be better for you if I kept my distance."

"It's okay, professor." Harry didn't stop to think whether it was actually okay or not; he just wanted to move on.

Dumbledore regarded him a moment. "Well," he resumed, "I suppose you can guess why I've asked you here. Professor Snape has informed me of what happened last night. I wonder if you would be so good as to describe it in your own words."

Harry related everything he could remember. Dumbledore seemed particularly interested in the wheel of light he had seen.

"Can you describe it exactly, Harry?" he asked.

Harry thought. "It…had a lot of different colors…but mostly a…dark blue, I think it was. It was brightest at the center and swirling. It kind of looked like…" Harry raked his brains for an appropriate comparison. "Sort of like a galaxy, I guess. That kind of shape."

Dumbledore nodded. "I have a theory as to what you saw, Harry. I believe it was one of your magical cores."

"Magical cores? What are those?"

"It seems you'd better start with the basics, headmaster," Snape drawled, producing the book he'd been carrying.

Dumbledore placed the book in front of Harry, opening it to the same page he'd shown Snape the night before.

"There are seven cores," Dumbledore explained. "Arithmancers surmised that that is the reason the number seven is so significant to us. All these cores are linked, though each is unique, giving rise to different magical talents."

"So," said Harry slowly, pouring over the book, "these are…where our magic comes from?"

"Correct. For instance, the third core," Dumbledore indicated the circle located between the navel and breastbone, "is thought to be strong in the energies of willpower and personal strength. Those talented in martial magic are believed to draw heavily from this core."

"Does everybody specialize like that?" Harry asked.

"In a way. All the cores are linked and so all are necessary. There is some overlap. However, most witches and wizards will gravitate to one or two in particular. There is a theory that those who are especially gifted will draw from all the cores, including this one." Dumbledore pointed to the circle at the crown of the head. "The seventh core is often referred to as Merlin's Crown. It is believed to deal with magic in its purest form, the very life energy of all beings."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore. "So what I saw was a magical core? What does that mean? Can everybody see them?"

Dumbledore peered at Harry over he rims of his half-moon glasses. "No. To my knowledge, very few can. People are thought to see them only when they begin to tap the seventh core."

"Can you see them?" Harry asked.

"There have been a few times in which I have had glimpses," Dumbledore replied, "but no more than that. And not until I was considerably advanced in years."

Harry sat back in his chair, trying to absorb all this.

"Now," Dumbledore said, "Professor Snape has informed me that he will be increasing your private lessons. Learning to Occlude your mind is still a priority, however, it seems we will need to add this to your study as well, since Occlumency seems to be triggering this newfound ability. I do apologize for adding to your workload with O.W.L.s coming up," Dumbledore smiled knowingly, "but be assured Professor Snape will be more than happy to provide whatever assistance you require."

Looking at Snape's face, Harry wasn't sure 'happy' was the right word to describe his feelings. But Snape didn't object; instead he turned to look Harry in the eye. "My instructions of last night still stand, Potter. You will not try anything without my supervision."

Harry nodded, barely suppressing a groan. As if Occlumency wasn't hard enough, now he had to deal with magical cores? He'd be lucky if he ever graduated from Hogwarts.

"Harry!" Hermione waved to him as he entered the Great Hall. Ron, Fred, and George were gathered around her. Harry slipped into a seat beside George. "'Lo, everyone."

"Where've you been?" George asked, munching on a piece of bacon. "Hermione here was about to go on another searching rampage."

Hermione glared at him.

"Dumbledore wanted to see me," Harry said, helping himself to potatoes.

"Really? What for?" Ron asked.

"He wanted to talk to me about what happened in Snape's office."

Fred smirked. "So it wasn't just that practice 'got intense.' What actually happened?" Suddenly his face turned suspicious. "Snape didn't do anything, did he?"

"No," Harry answered wearily. "Apparently it was all me. I'll explain tonight."

"More secrets, huh?" George asked.

Harry nodded, fiercely stabbing a piece of bacon. "And I'll be meeting with Snape an extra night a week."

Fred shook his head. "May God have mercy on your soul, Harry."

Before Harry could respond the owls arrived with the morning post. Hermione received her usual Daily Prophet and immediately started to read. Harry didn't see any white amongst the mass of feathers and so returned to his breakfast. He jumped in surprise when a brown owl landed directly in front of him and stuck out its leg. Harry removed the piece of parchment it carried, rewarding it with a piece of bacon. The owl hooted appreciatively and took off.

"Is that from Snuffles?" Hermione whispered, leaning in.

"No," Harry replied in shock. "It's from Lupin!"

"What does it say?"

"Let him read it, Hermione!" Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"He wants to meet up," Harry said, scanning the letter. "He says he hasn't seen me for a awhile, and wants to know if there's a Hogsmeade weekend that would work."

"Our next one's around Valentine's Day," Hermione suggested. "How about that?"

"Great, Hermione," George said lightly. "Harry can go on a date with Lupin."

"That is _not_ what I meant!"

"What do reckon this is about?" Ron asked. "Is something going on with the Order?"

"No idea," Harry replied. He scanned Lupin's neat script for any clue but there was none. This couldn't be about the magical core thing; there's no way Lupin could know about that so soon. Was something wrong with Sirius? Lupin didn't imply anything of the kind, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Harry re-folded the letter and stuffed it in his backpack. He'd just have to wait and see, but he dearly hoped it wasn't bad news. Harry wasn't sure how many more shocks he could take.

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**Hope you enjoyed! **


	8. Deeper Scars

**Hi, everybody! Apologies for my long absence! But my dissertation is almost done (thank god or whoever's in charge of grad school!), so without further ado...**

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Harry did not look back fondly on the following weeks, although there were some things to be grateful for. One was that Hermione was now almost solely responsible for the running of the D.A. When she presented him with a syllabus she had drafted based on their preparation for the Third Task, Harry could have kissed her. Without the stress of planning each lesson from scratch, Harry could focus on simply giving pointers during the meetings, leaving the details to Hermione. In fact, if Harry did say so himself, thanks to the extra work, Hermione was becoming quite an accomplished duelist. Harry paired himself with her whenever he wanted a real challenge.

The second was that he and Snape were continuing to get along despite their extra time together. They now met Tuesdays as well as Thursdays, with the first half of the lesson spent on Occlumency and the second half on magical cores. Snape of course had no qualms about keeping Harry overtime if he felt they were making progress. Harry had to study parts of the book Dumbledore had provided every night and he didn't dare shirk. Their first Tuesday lesson had been spent verbally quizzing Harry on what he had read, so Snape was sure to know if he'd been derelict.

Most evenings Harry could be found sharing Hermione's study table in the common room, bent over the thick tome. At first, Harry grumbled loudly about this. The last thing he wanted was extra homework. His only saving grace was Hermione, who relentlessly encouraged him to keep at it and often helped him decipher words. Without her, Harry was sure he wouldn't have made it past the first page. Undoubtedly it was eloquent, but some of it was so complex and winding to read.

"I don't know what this person was smoking when he wrote this," Harry told Hermione, "but the Jabberwocky poem makes more sense. And I think it used more real words."

"These are real words," Hermione replied, a bit primly. "They're just Middle English. It's really not that difficult once you get a grasp of the verb tenses and syntax."

"Oh, that's all? Great, I'll be able to read it in ten years."

Hermione merely smiled and returned to her Arithmancy chart.

Despite Harry's pessimistic prediction, however, he eventually found (though he refused to admit it, especially to Hermione) that he actually enjoyed the work. Magical cores were fascinating and studying them reawakened Harry's enthusiasm for magic, the same enthusiasm he had felt when he was eleven and eagerly poring over his spellbooks every night as he dreamed of leaving the Dursleys. That excitement had dampened once Harry discovered how much work magic really was, and had been killed dead thanks to the events of fourth year. Now, at last, it was coming back with a vengeance and Harry relished it.

It was a good thing too that Harry found some enjoyment to motivate him because the extra work was still no joke. Harry was almost glad he no longer had to worry about Quidditch, at least the competitive part. He still sorely missed flying. It was always his best outlet, perhaps the thing he enjoyed most about being a wizard. The sight of his beloved Firebolt chained up over Umbridge's desk set his blood boiling every time. The worst part was that Umbridge seemed to know it and had taken to pacing her office as he wrote those awful lines, stopping before his Firebolt to smugly examine it, sometimes even running a hand over it. At those times it was all Harry could do to not to hex her right in her fat smirking face.

Speaking of his detentions, Harry did his best to follow Snape's advice and refuse to let Umbridge bait him. Unfortunately, Umbridge took his silence as a new kind of defiance and kept singling him out. She had taken to asking him detailed questions about the reading, which, since Harry never bothered to do it, he could never answer. And so the detentions continued, even if Harry managed to avoid having them everyday. His hand ached all the time now, especially when he flexed it suddenly.

Sometimes the detentions ran so late that Harry would return to find Ron and Hermione had gone to sleep. He certainly couldn't begrudge them this; sometimes Umbridge didn't let him out until well past midnight, and they all had homework and classes to attend. Nevertheless, Harry couldn't help feeling a little prick of self-pity whenever he would return to an empty common room.

_It's not their job to babysit you. You're not a child_, he snapped at himself as he unwrapped his hand to perform a cleaning spell on the bandage. But the feeling wouldn't be reasoned away.

Whenever Harry removed the concealment spell now, the cuts could be clearly seen, occasionally leaking blood even the day after his detentions, and the flesh around them was angry red and swollen. Harry now wore a bandage constantly under the concealment to prevent unexplained drips of blood appearing around him. The spell might make his hand look unscathed, but it didn't actually heal anything.

Harry also had another worry: his meeting with Lupin. Usually Harry looked forward to seeing his favorite professor, but he couldn't figure out why Lupin wanted to see him in person so suddenly. His preoccupation became obvious during his first Occlumency lesson since receiving the letter.

"You seem to have wolf on the brain, Potter," Snape commented, after casting the Legilimency spell on Harry for the fourth time and seeing yet another reel of memories from Harry's third year with Lupin.

"He wrote to me recently." Harry attempted nonchalance but failed.

"I see," Snape said. "And something about the letter bothers you?"

"No. Well, kind of." Harry was struck by a thought. "Professor, there's nothing wrong with – the group – is there?"

"I see you're learning to be discreet. How very Slytherin of you, Potter. But I assure you, Potter, this office is well warded. And to answer your unspoken question, no, Lupin is not coming to see you about Order business."

"Oh." Harry paused. "Wait, how do you know he wants to see me?"

Snape wore his usual disinterested mask. "He mentioned it the last time I saw him. Apparently he misses you for some reason I cannot fathom."

Harry snorted. "It's probably the hypnotic Slytherin charm in me, sir."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Well, it's not the humility."

"Actually, sir, can I tell you a secret?"

"I wait with baited breath and a suspended sense of decency."

"You remember how long I took to be sorted? Well, the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin."

"Don't nauseate me, Potter, I just had dinner." Snape raised his wand to begin another Occlumency round, and Harry prepared himself. "However," Snape said lightly, "perhaps there's hope for you yet."

Harry grinned before trying to clear his mind.

The lesson concluded on a satisfactory note. Harry still couldn't block his mind, but he was starting to get better at keeping himself emotionally detached without retreating into…wherever it was he went when he saw the threads. Snape assured him this was the correct first step, though Harry was feeling rather discouraged.

Fortunately, his progress with the magical cores was better, though perhaps it only seemed that way because Snape was learning with him. It became readily apparent that much of what was written about magical cores was speculation, so studying it with Snape felt much more like a collaborative project than a lesson.

"I don't get it," Harry said as they examined the illustration of the cores. "I mean, it's obvious all wizards have this. If this is where our magic comes from, why don't we know more about it?"

"I would speculate for similar reasons that it is enough for most people to know that their heart beats; they don't trouble themselves with the exact processes that make it do so," Snape replied. "And remember, Potter, as the Headmaster said, the vast majority of wizards never advance to the point that they can see or manipulate their cores. They couldn't study something they couldn't observe. It seems that all we know is at least several centuries old."

"Well then, shouldn't we observe?" Harry suggested.

Snape looked at him. "The last time you tried it you passed out."

"I know, sir. I think that's because I tried messing with it. I won't do that this time, I'll just look." When Snape still looked skeptical, Harry said, "I've observed it before and it didn't hurt me. And if I never try it we'll never get anywhere."

Snape considered for a few moments. "Very well. But you will lie down while you try it. And if you feel any discomfort, _any_, you will stop. Understood?"

Harry nodded.

Snape transfigured the desk into a chez lounge and Harry got comfortable. What with the stress he had been under recently, it took Harry quite a few tries but at last he managed to access the threads. It was blessed relief to be inside himself like this. He followed the path he had taken before and found the dark blue wheel. It was still spinning, although Harry observed that black thread was still twined through it. Harry felt that it didn't belong but he didn't dare try to manipulate anything this time. At least there seemed to be less of the black this time.

Harry tried to go past the wheel but found himself thwarted. Something was pressing upon him. Deciding not to push his luck, he changed course and went down, following the brightest path of threads. Another wheel, this one a lighter blue. Then green. Then yellow. Harry realized with awe that he was seeing all the cores for the first time. He kept going. Orange. Red. Why the different colors, Harry wondered. Never mind. That was a thought for another time. It was too peaceful in here to bother with pointless questions. And somehow, Harry had a strong sense that everything was exactly the color it needed to be. He couldn't tell how he knew this, he just did. He spent some time gliding (for what else could he call this motion?) up and down, examining everything.

After some time, though he could not tell how long, Harry heard Snape calling him. With a long exhale, Harry found himself back in Snape's office.

"How are you feeling, Potter?"

"Fine. Better, actually." Harry sat up slowly.

"What did you see?"

Harry described it in as much detail as he could while Snape took notes. "And," he said, "the wheels weren't smooth. They would shift and crackle, the threads would go all over the place. Sometimes they wouldn't even look like circles."

Snape frowned and consulted the book. "Are you certain, Potter?"

"Yes. It seemed wrong somehow, but I don't know, maybe it's supposed to look like that."

"It's not," Snape said, pointing at the illustration. "Your description of the colors matches but not the shape. The cores should be aligned and fluid; yours seem agitated. I suspect they are not flowing as they should."

"My magic's broken?" Harry was alarmed.

"Not broken, but disrupted. If it were 'broken,' as you say, you wouldn't be able to cast spells." Snape consulted his notes. "This black thread you saw…you said it seemed out of place?"

"Yeah." Harry looked at the drawing. "It was twined around that one, I think. The colors match." Harry tapped the indigo core located on the forehead. The forehead… Harry and Snape's eyes met as Harry touched his scar.

"It would seem," Snape said, "the Dark Lord left his mark on more than just flesh."

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**Thanks to everybody following and reviewing! You guys are awesome!**


	9. Of Threads and Loose Ends

**The next installment...Enjoy!**

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Harry was appalled. Finding out Voldemort had left residue on his innermost self was utterly disgusting. The worst part was that for a few days he was not sure there was a solution. But together he and Snape combed through the book and so discovered that such a situation was not unique to Harry. The book alluded to such things happening before due to curses or magical injuries.

"But there's no way to fix it," Harry said when he and Snape met again on Thursday. "I've looked and looked and there's nothing. What if I'm stuck like this?"

"You won't be," Snape said, writing more notes.

"How do you know?" Harry asked. The question could have sounded belligerent but Snape could tell from Harry's tone that he was only desperate for reassurance.

"Every problem has a solution, Potter," he said. "We will find one."

"What if there isn't one?"

"Then we shall make one," Snape said as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

Harry had no reply and so bent over the book again. Truthfully, he was very grateful for Snape's calm at a time when he himself felt like panicking. The thought of having to face Voldemort or his Death Eaters again with damaged magical cores would be enough to make anyone panic. But Snape's confidence gave Harry confidence and he renewed his efforts.

Studying magical cores had not lost its appeal. It seemed that magic was closely linked to emotion, most of all the will to act. This will had allowed the first witches and wizards to begin to access the cores and manipulate their surroundings. How this had happened was not entirely clear. Some said that very strength of will broke the barrier. Some said Merlin made a bargain with the goddess Hecate. Regardless, it appeared that emotion was and always had been essential to magic.

"Makes sense," Harry commented after reading this information aloud to Snape. "I mean, my accidental magic always happened when I was angry or scared."

"Indeed," Snape replied. "This also explains why a Patronus can change when witches or wizards experience great distress."

"A person's Patronus can change?"

Snape nodded. "It's not common, but it does happen. Keep reading."

Harry did so. The passage went on to describe the key affective elements for magical prowess: determination to survive, allowance of pleasure, strength of will, willingness to love, devotion to truth, openness to insight, and at last disposition of detachment. Snape hummed thoughtfully as he finished writing this in shorthand.

"Potter," he said, "I think we may have found our solution."

Harry straightened. "What do you mean?"

"Look." Snape placed the list next to the now well-used illustration. "Seven keys…"

"Seven cores," Harry finished. "So if I do all these things…it will fix my magic?"

"I suspect so."

Harry read the list. "How do I do all this? Just believe it or something?"

Snape was frowning down at the pieces of parchment. "That is the essential question. Determination to survive I would argue you possess in abundance."

_Do I?_ Harry thought very carefully. He thought about how angry he had been this year. He thought about the graveyard. About Cedric. About Sirius and Lupin.

"Professor…" he said, making Snape turn to look at him. "I want to access the cores again. I need to test something."

"And what is this 'something?'" Snape demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"If these seven — traits or qualities or whatever," Harry replied, "are the keys to fixing the cores, then shouldn't they match up? Like, shouldn't there be a key for each core?"

Snape looked surprised for a moment, then his expression became one of realization. "Yes…then each would repair one core."

Harry nodded. "That's what I'm thinking, but I want to look at something."

"Very well." Snape transformed the desk again, and Harry lay down and closed his eyes. It was much easier to dive down inside himself this time. The more he did this, the less it felt like popping apart. Instead, it felt like a rush, like a wave rising up to meet him rather than he having to go down to it.

"I can see them," he mumbled, watching the colors and swoops and swirls.

Snape started, though Harry didn't see. Harry had never spoken when doing this before.

"What do they look like?" he asked, wondering if Harry could hear him.

"Still wrong," Harry replied. His voice sounded odd, not exactly breathy, but softer.

Harry slid down to the first core, which was a scarlet red. Like the others, it sometimes managed to form a spiral but then would snap and ripple out of place. Harry considered. The only way to examine it was to take a risk. Harry concentrated and felt himself slip inside it. The next second he stiffened. He could feel the core, feel the stability that should normally be there, that should ground it. At the same time, he was overwhelmed by recollections: Cedric's empty eyes, Voldemort torturing him as the Death Eaters watched, the Dementors gliding towards him and Dudley…

"Potter!"

Dementors surrounding him by the lake about to Kiss him…

"Potter, what did you do?!"

Voldemort' face, his cruel red eyes, his snake-like features…

_"Potter!"_ Harry suddenly became aware that someone was shaking him. Disoriented, he tried to protect himself by curling into a ball.

"Potter, calm down! You're safe, you're in my office, no one will hurt you! Calm down!"

Harry retreated, leaving the flickering red behind. He opened his eyes to see Snape leaning over him, looking alarmed. Harry started to sit up but Snape pushed him back down.

"Don't even think about it! I knew I shouldn't have trusted you with this! What did you do?" Snape all but stormed over to his potions cupboard.

"I went into the first core. I needed to examine it." Harry took stock of himself. He was panting and felt shaky, but otherwise he felt fine. At least he didn't pass out this time. His throat felt rough. "Was I screaming?"

"No," Snape answered, returning with several vials. "You clearly were trying to, but you couldn't make a sound."

"I feel okay," Harry said. "Nothing hurts this time." He sat up cautiously and this time Snape allowed it, though he watched Harry like a hawk. Harry looked up at him. "No dizziness. I think I'm okay now."

Snape set down the vials. "What happened?"

Harry explained, ending with, "But I could feel how the core was supposed to be. It's supposed to be stable, secure. I think it is about survival. I think we were right; I think there's a key for each core!"

"Normally grounded in the will to survive but disrupted," Snape said after he had considered for a few moments. "Your memories were of threats to your life. So it is being disrupted by it's opposite. The opposite of survival is death."

Harry thought back. "No," he said slowly. "It's fear." Snape looked at him questioningly. "That's what I felt," Harry went on, "when I saw all those things. I was scared. I needed to get away, to hide…if I'd done that those times I'd really be dead. The opposite of survival is fear!"

Snape was intrigued. "You just might be correct, Potter. In that case, your first core has been damaged by your own terror."

"Sorry," Harry said. "I guess I'm not so determined." He felt ashamed, like he had somehow disappointed Snape, but Snape scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Only imbeciles never feel fear. If you were truly mastered by that emotion, you would never have gotten yourself into half the trouble you've been in. My guess is that had the Dark Lord not given you that scar and wounded your magic, your cores would not be so susceptible to damage. If it is any comfort at all," here Snape looked Harry right in the eye, "for all that I disliked you and laid every fault I could on you, I never thought you a coward."

"Thank you, professor," Harry said quietly. He hardly knew how to respond. Certainly he and Snape were getting along better than they ever had, but something like this Harry had never expected. "Um, do you…do you still dislike me?"

Snape had started returning the vials to the cupboard as they weren't needed, but paused, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "You are rather like caviar, Potter. Undoubtedly an acquired taste, but afterwards agreeable in small doses."

When Harry returned to the common room that night, Ron immediately asked what he was grinning about. Harry refused to say.

Since he was meeting Lupin in Hogsmeade, Harry had hoped to avoid detention with Umbridge on Friday. But it was no use; despite his efforts (he even suffered through a few pages of Slinkhard) Harry spent his evening sitting at a desk watching as line after line of dark red painted the parchment, feeling the words on his hand cut deeper and deeper. Harry couldn't help but be grateful for Snape's lessons. Thanks to them, he was able to mentally withdraw as much as he could, giving him some distance from the pain. It did not stop it, but it did help.

Harry trudged back to Gryffindor tower, finding it empty as usual. He made his way up the boy's staircase and flopped onto his bed, retrieving the Murtlap Essence from his bedside dresser drawer. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he started the now familiar routine of patching himself up as best he could. He tried mustering up his hatred towards Umbridge, but he was too exhausted to even manage that. He couldn't even feel nervous about meeting Lupin tomorrow. All he could feel was tired and sick. The corners of his eyes burned and Harry immediately squeezed them shut. No way. He was _not_ going to start crying about this like a little girl. Releasing a shaky sigh, he started removing the bandage.

Harry suddenly jolted upright from where he had been leaning against the bedpost, feeling a sharp pain in his neck. Outside the sky was grey, with a little gold starting to creep in. Dawn was breaking. Harry realized he had fallen asleep as he tended to his hand. The Murtlap soaked cloth that had been resting on it had fallen to the floor at his sudden movement. Harry examined the back of his hand. The cuts were plain as ever and still bleeding; spots stained his blanket.

Harry quickly performed Scourgify on the bandage and re-wrapped his hand, then did the same to the blanket. Sleep was impossible now, so Harry straightened out his robes and went down to the common room to sit by the fire. After an hour or so, a couple people started to trickle down. None of them spoke to Harry, and he found he preferred it that way.

"Harry?"

Apparently, the silence wasn't to last. Harry looked up to see Fred and George, and mumbled a greeting, trying to give them a friendly smile. Evidently, he didn't succeed because the identical looks of concern did not fade.

"You all right there?" Fred asked.

Harry nodded. "I didn't sleep good."

Fred made a noise of acknowledgement. "Ron and Hermione said you were at detention again last night. How many have you had by now?"

"Dunno. I lost count."

"You know, Harry," George said very primly, "if you keep this up you just might beat our record. That is not acceptable."

"You'll just have to get in more trouble," Harry suggested, pleased when this changed the concern to devious smirks.

"What's she making you do anyway?" George asked.

"Lines."

"Ugh, figures," Fred rolled his eyes. "The old toad can't even come up with something creative."

Harry's eyes shifted to his hand. If only they knew…

"So, looking forward to Hogsmeade?" Fred changed the subject.

Harry nodded. "Lupin's going to visit me."

"Oh, great. Say hi for us. We'd come say it ourselves, but we'll be busy."

"Doing what?" Harry dared to ask.

Fred smiled in a predatory way. "Oh, my dear boy, we can't spoil the surprise."

"We figure," George said, "things have gotten a bit too quiet around here with the pink toad lording it over everyone. We've decided it's time someone livened things up a bit on a grander scale."

"Of course we have to time it right," Fred continued. "We wouldn't dream of inconveniencing anyone." Harry raised his eyebrows. "So we've been doing some calculations to pick just the right location." Fred pulled a piece of parchment out of his robes and presented it to Harry, who saw that it was a spreadsheet of potential damage to people and property. Harry noted with pleasure that the twins had counted Umbridge as three-twentieths of a person.

"Anyway," George said, "we still need to pick up some supplies."

"Good. I could use a laugh," Harry said.

At that moment Ron and Hermione appeared, and Fred hastily stuffed the parchment out of sight. The group headed to breakfast, where Hermione proceeded to quiz Harry on what he thought Lupin might say, whether it would be important news, and what he would do if it were, until Fred told her to drop it. Harry was relieved; he was nervous enough without the reminder.

At Hogsmeade, they all parted ways, Fred and George to procure their mysterious supplies and Ron and Hermione to Honeydukes. Harry hovered by the front of the Three Broomsticks, where Lupin had told Harry to meet him. He only waited a few minutes before he spotted his ex-professor, still lined and greying, but looking pleased when he caught sight of Harry.

"Harry!" Lupin made a motion as though he were going to embrace Harry, then seemed to think better of it and clapped him on the shoulder instead. "How are you?"

"Fine," Harry said. Some of the knots in his stomach had unraveled at Lupin's friendly smile. If something were wrong surely he wouldn't look so cheerful.

Lupin examined Harry's face, the smile fading. "You don't look too well."

"Fifth year's a beast." And wasn't that the truth.

Lupin nodded. "Ah, yes, I remember. Beastly indeed. Care for something hot?" Lupin inclined his head toward the Three Broomsticks.

A warm drink sounded heavenly right now; the day was cold and Harry was still feeling a bit sickly. Lupin led the way inside and picked a table in a relatively quiet corner. Madame Rosmerta was presiding behind the counter, dressed as usual in glittering jewelry and sequined high heels. Harry was reminded of a disco ball. Harry turned to Lupin and saw with surprise that he had pulled his hood up over his head. "Would you mind getting a pot of tea, Harry? Any kind is quite fine with me."

"Uh, sure," Harry said and stood up to go to the counter.

"Take this." Lupin held out some Sickles. "This is my treat."

Harry hesitated. He knew Lupin was struggling and didn't want to cause a problem for him; on the other hand, suggesting that Lupin couldn't buy a pot of tea seemed horribly rude. Harry accepted the money, and walked to the counter, asking for his favorite tea and hoping Lupin would like it. Madame Rosmerta seemed happy to see him, and placed some complimentary scones on the tray. Harry returned to Lupin, who still had his hood up, setting down the tray in the middle of the table and handing Lupin his change.

"I just got the Earl Grey Lavender; it's my favorite, but…"

"That sounds lovely; they didn't have that when I was here. Thank you, Harry." Lupin poured himself and Harry a cup and started doctoring it to his liking. "So, fifth year is difficult?"

"Yeah." If this was all Lupin wanted to talk about, Harry was relieved. And surprised. "The work is crazy. The only one who doesn't seem to care that it's fifth year is Professor Binns." Harry looked up. "I wish you were still teaching though. You're still the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we've ever had."

Lupin smiled. "You're very kind, Harry."

"It's true!" Harry insisted. "We actually learned something with you. Lots of people miss you. Umbridge had a go at you our first day and lots of people got mad."

Lupin's look darkened. "Umbridge said something?"

"Yeah." Harry glowered at the memory. "About you being no good or something. Like she's not the foulest thing ever. I let her have it, though."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble," Lupin said leadingly.

Harry shrugged. "I got in more trouble for talking about what happened to Cedric."

Lupin took a sip of tea. "I know that it must be hard for you, Harry, but I would advise you not to antagonize her. She doesn't need any more excuses to target you."

"I know," Harry said with a twisted smile. "Snape already chewed me out for 'making a spectacle of myself.'"

"How are things between you and Severus?" Lupin asked curiously.

"Good," Harry replied. "Everyone's shocked, but it's true. I like it. He actually gives pretty good advice." Harry stirred his tea. "I wish we'd started out on a better foot. I don't know what I did."

"You didn't do anything, Harry," said Lupin with a faint smile. "With James as your father and Sirius as your godfather, I'm afraid you've inherited an old grudge."

"I've inherited a lot of things," Harry muttered darkly, thinking of his scar and Umbridge and the Ministry.

"You have," Lupin said quietly, thinking of the Dursleys. "I wish you hadn't."

There was an awkward lull as they both drank their tea. Harry decided now was as good a time as ever to broach the subject nagging at him. "So…how come you wanted to meet? Is something going on?"

"No, nothing. I just realized we really haven't spent any time together since I taught at Hogwarts. I thought it high time we had a chat."

"Oh." Harry wished he could say something else, but he was at a loss. He had hoped nothing was wrong, but he hadn't expected there to be no reason at all for Lupin to visit. He had thought there had to be a message or instructions or something.

"So," Lupin resumed, "Severus gives good advice?"

"Yeah. Well, you know, if you can handle the snark." Harry smiled. "I'm getting better at keeping up with him though."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Lupin. "I always did regret that an old schoolboy grudge had carried over to you."

"We spend hours outside of class together two days a week. I guess we had to get over it or kill each other."

"Two days a week?" Lupin looked surprised. "I thought you were only meeting once a week. Sirius told me that's what Dumbledore ordered."

Harry shook his head. "Snape wanted us to meet more and Dumbledore agreed. You know what Dumbledore wanted me to learn, right?" Lupin nodded. "Well, now Snape and I are working on something else too."

"What is this something else?"

"It's complicated," said Harry quietly. "Long story short, I accidentally started learning how to do something besides Occ – what I was doing originally. Dumbledore said that I needed to start studying that too."

"Dumbledore said? He spoke with you?"

"Yes." Harry's tone became clipped. "I guess he can make time for me now when I do something that interests him."

"You're angry with him," Lupin stated gently, taking another sip. "He always speaks of you fondly, Harry. I'm sure that whatever reasons he has, it's not because he wishes to neglect you. Maybe it's his way of trying to protect you."

"Yeah, well, it's not!" Harry snapped. "It's selfish and it's stupid! One second he's nice to me and the next I don't exist! He needs to make up his mind!"

Lupin was silent for a moment, then he slowly set down his teacup and looked Harry in the eye. "You're talking about me too, aren't you?" he said quietly.

Harry stared back for a moment, and it was like a dam broke, the sense of rejection flooding him. Harry thought he should feel angry about it. He wanted to feel angry about it. But he couldn't. "I asked you not to leave," he said, his voice dull and weary. "At the end of third year, remember?"

"Yes, I do." Lupin's eyes were still fixed on Harry's face.

"You didn't write to me," Harry accused, talking to his cup rather than Lupin. "Not even after…when Voldemort came back."

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry made an odd motion, something between a shrug and headshake. "It's okay. I understand why you didn't, it's just—"

"No," Lupin interrupted. "I don't think you do." He stood up. "Would you walk with me?"

Harry could only nod and followed him outside. Lupin led the way down the street. Once they were some yards from the pub, he pushed back his hood and slowed so that he and Harry were side by side.

"Harry, I –" Lupin appeared to be grappling desperately for words. "You must understand –" Another pause. Lupin heaved a heavy sigh. "I should start at the beginning. I've told you about what happened when I and your father and Sirius were at school, how they helped me." Harry nodded and Lupin continued. "What they did, befriending someone like me – it's almost unheard of. You have only seen me amongst the Order or teaching at Hogwarts where hardly anyone knew what I was. You don't know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me."

"You're not a creature!" Harry objected, some emotion finally coming back to his voice.

Lupin sighed again. "Harry, that's the point. In most people's eyes, I'm exactly that, or worse. When they discover what I am, they can barely talk to me. Filthy half-breeds, they call us. Dangerous monsters. You noticed I kept my face hidden back there? It was because after everyone at Hogwarts found out about me, I'm sure the people in this village heard too. It wouldn't be the first pub I was thrown out of."

Harry was silent, listening avidly. He suddenly recalled that time in the Shrieking Shack, when Lupin had first confessed what he was and then tried to help Ron. _Get away from me, werewolf_, Ron had said. Lupin had looked like Ron had slapped him.

"When I was growing up," Lupin went on, "I had no friends. I couldn't; it would be too easy for them to discover what I was. My parents and I had to move all the time from place to place as soon as the people where we lived started getting suspicious. Most werewolves are taken from their families, driven away. Many form their own surrogate families, or packs, as they're called.

"My parents didn't want such a fate for me. As I told you, they tried everything, even things that were…painful. Nothing worked. You don't know what it's like to see your own mother look at you in fear as night starts to fall on the full moon." Lupin seemed unable to go on for a moment. Harry wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but he hardly dared make a sound.

"Then," Lupin said, and to Harry's relief he looked happier, "Dumbledore arrived and offered me a place at Hogwarts. I was thrilled but also terrified. I had never been around children my own age so much before. On the other hand, they had never been around _me_. But to my surprise I made friends, the first, the best friends I'd ever had. When they found out and confronted me I was devastated. But they didn't reject me; they did just the opposite. We became closer than ever. They looked at me with excitement, not fear, when the full moon came. We were brothers. They were my family. My pack.

"Then the war started. We all joined the Order. I had comrades. Some were suspicious of me, but I was under Dumbledore's protection. My friends defended me. Your mother was one of my most vocal advocates. She used to make me hot chocolate, you know, after my transformations. Said it was good for the soul. Gradually, I was accepted. Then you were born. Sirius was named your godfather. I understood, of course, a werewolf would never be allowed to raise a child. They named me your honorary uncle. I never thought I'd have a nephew. They would even let me hold you. You and my pack were my entire world."

Lupin's face became haunted again. "That night…I was away on a mission. I didn't hear until the next morning…my pack was gone…" Lupin's voice broke, and Harry quickly looked at the ground to give him privacy. He could hardly imagine what Lupin had endured. All of his friends gone in one night, three thought to be dead and one thought to be a traitor.

Lupin cleared his throat roughly. "The Order was disbanded. They all went back to their lives and families. Dumbledore told me that you had gone to live with your aunt and uncle. I assumed that you were safe and happy. Now that you were famous I was afraid that the Ministry wouldn't take kindly to a werewolf showing up on your doorstep. And frankly…it's hard…to lose all my family so suddenly…full moons after that were terrible; I had nothing to keep the madness at bay anymore. I hid myself away, terrified of hurting anyone near me. My health was bad…I hardly knew what to do with myself. I thought that you would be better off, a hundred times so, with a stable, loving family than a broken animal. But I did miss you. I thought about you every day and every night I would lie awake missing you and my friends so much it would ache."

Lupin came to an abrupt halt. Harry realized that they had made their way to the Shrieking Shack. He looked at Lupin, whose eyes were fixed on the house and whose mind was clearly far away, back in time.

"I was so happy to meet you when Dumbledore invited me to teach. It was like old times – surrounded by colleagues and a small piece of my family back. I wish, looking back, I had been more candid but I was afraid. I'd gotten so used to being alone, to keeping secrets. And then, when Sirius returned, I thought that you would rather have your godfather than a professor." At last, Lupin looked at him. "Forgive me, Harry. It never occurred to me you were ever anything other than safe and loved. It never occurred to me that you would feel like I left you."

Finally, Harry spoke, though he had to swallow the lump in his throat to do it. "I just assumed you weren't talking to me because you didn't want to. Because you'd had enough of me and my…" Harry made a vague gesture to all of himself, "stuff. I wanted to write to you. Many times I started to, but…I thought I shouldn't bother you." Suddenly Harry gave a watery snort. "I thought you didn't want me, and you thought I didn't want you…we're hopeless."

Lupin gave him a weak smile in return. "Perhaps. But I would like to make it up to you if I can. I understand, of course, if…if you think it's too late…"

Harry could have laughed out loud. All this, and Lupin was still worried Harry would rebuff him. "Honorary uncle, huh?" He made a show of thinking this over. "Yep, I think that'll do all right."

Lupin smiled, reminding Harry of Sirius's face when Harry had accepted his offer to live with him. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry suddenly felt awkward. He didn't know the protocol for something like this. Were they supposed to hug or handshake or…? Lupin solved the dilemma for him by putting his arm around Harry's shoulders and giving him a friendly squeeze. No one adult except Mrs. Weasley had ever hugged him and yet Harry found it didn't make him feel childish or uncomfortable. He rather enjoyed it. He was just thinking about maybe returning the gesture when Lupin suddenly bent his head, frowning.

"Harry, are you hurt?"

"What?" Harry followed Lupin's eyes to his left hand and saw, to his horror, that some blood had dripped to the dirt below. The bandage must have soaked through and Harry hadn't noticed because he was so absorbed in Lupin's story. "I, uh, no! I don't think that's mine. I'm fine!"

Lupin released him and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Show me," he commanded, all previous happiness gone.

Harry hesitated then held out his hand. It would be fine. No blood was falling for the moment that Harry could see and the concealment spell was still in place. Lupin would see there was nothing there and let it go. Still frowning, Lupin reached for his wrist and examined his hand and arm. Harry tried to look unconcerned despite his hammering heart. Suddenly, to Harry's surprise, Lupin bent his head and inhaled deeply through his nose. Harry could see his nostrils flare. Lupin looked back up at him and drew his wand; Harry hoped he was only imagining that Lupin's eyes looked more amber than usual.

"You know, Harry," Lupin said. "There are a few advantages to being what I am at times." He pointed his wand at Harry's hand. _"Finite Incantatem!"_

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Your comments are a huge inspiration! I particularly call on my British readers - you'll have to make sure to correct me if my American is showing too much.**


	10. Chapter 10: Old Wounds, New Scars

The concealment vanished, and Harry and Lupin were suddenly staring at a soaked and worn bandage. Lupin immediately vanished that as well, and there were the cuts, leaking so profusely that they were indistinguishable.

Lupin looked worried. "Harry, what is this?" he demanded.

"They're…um…" Harry looked away, his mind buzzing as he tried to think of what he should say, to plan how he should act, but he couldn't settle. Lupin pointed his wand at the oozing cuts.

_"Episkey!"_ His frown deepened when nothing happened. "What…?" He tried again. _"Reparifors!"_ Again the same result. "Harry, how did this happen?" he asked, now sounding almost afraid.

"It – it's…" Harry stammered.

Lupin pointed his wand at the wound once more. _"Tergeo!"_ The excess blood was siphoned away and Lupin gasped sharply. With the blood momentarily cleaned the words were quite plain. _I must not tell lies._ Lupin stared at Harry's hand, shocked and repulsed. Then he looked at Harry, glaring fiercely.

"What is this?" he demanded again. He spoke barely above a whisper, but the words carried such force he may as well have screamed them.

Harry thought, quite ironically, of lying but Lupin's vice-like grip on his wrist made him think again. More than that, Harry's reasons for keeping the secret seemed to be fading, running out of his mind like the blood was running from his hand. He was tired, so tired.

"Umbridge," he confessed. "Detentions…I – I write lines on parchment…the quill doesn't use ink…it uses…blood."

Harry waited for Lupin to say something, but he was silent. Uncertain, Harry looked up at last and froze as he realized with a gulp that he hadn't been imagining it: Lupin's eyes were a bright amber, almost glowing, his canines seemed longer, and the sudden dark etching of his features made them look sharper, more angular. For the first time, Harry could see the wolf upon his human face.

"How long?" Lupin snarled, his voice now deeper, harsher.

"M-months," Harry answered automatically, eyes wide. Lupin couldn't change without the full moon, could he?

Lupin took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but he wasn't very successful. His features stayed wolfish as he raised his wand yet again.

_"Ferula!"_

A bandage wrapped itself tightly around Harry's hand. Without another word Lupin seized Harry's other wrist and began marching back towards the village, pulling Harry in his wake. Harry couldn't see Lupin's face anymore, but he guessed it hadn't changed much because everyone quickly got out of their way. Lupin hurried down the main street and out of the village. Harry felt a sudden sense of dread as the winged boars on the Hogwarts gate came into view. Surely Lupin wasn't going to see Umbridge. He couldn't! He'd be sent to Azkaban for sure!

"Where are we going?" he asked in alarm.

Lupin stalked through the gate. "I'm still deciding," he growled.

Harry's stomach turned over and he tried to slow down, but Lupin's grip was relentless. Harry had to jog to keep up. He racked his brains for anything he could say that would persuade Lupin to leave. Even being here was probably a bad idea. But every time he tried to speak Lupin shushed him. They crossed the grounds and passed through the huge doors to the entrance hall. Harry could only follow, heart hammering, as they began to ascend the staircase.

"Lupin?"

Lupin merely glanced over his shoulder before continuing on his way. "Severus," he said curtly in acknowledgement.

Snape had just emerged from the door that led to the dungeons, and was now hurrying up the stairs to catch them.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Do you realize how unwise it is for you to—"

"I'm going to see Dumbledore. Now."

Snape looked taken aback by the guttural tone in Lupin's voice. But Harry felt relief. Dumbledore. Not Umbridge.

"May I ask what this is about?" Snape inquired as he accompanied them.

"Harry," Lupin replied shortly.

Snape's cold black eyes examined Harry, lingering on the bandage on his right hand. A dark stain was becoming visible on it. Snape looked at Harry's face, but he asked no more questions. The trio reached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office and Snape gave the password. Nobody said a word as the stairs carried them upwards. When they reached the door Lupin barged right in without knocking.

Dumbledore rose from his desk as they entered, for once looking genuinely surprised. Lupin marched right up to Dumbledore's desk, still pulling Harry along.

"Did you know about this? _Did you?!_" Lupin's voice was still quiet, but dangerous.

"About what, Remus?" Dumbledore replied.

Lupin whipped out his wand again. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape reach for his as well, looking wary. Dumbledore remained motionless, quite calm. Lupin pointed his wand at Harry's hand and vanished the bandage he had conjured. Once again, Harry's hand was left to bleed freely. Harry made to grasp it, more from a desire not to bleed all over Dumbledore's floor than to conceal it. But Lupin took his wrist (more gently than Harry had expected) and thrust it in Dumbledore's direction.

"Look! Look what that thing you hired has done! _Look!_"

Dumbledore examined the appendage, as did Snape, who had come forward. Again the cuts were bleeding too much to be clearly seen.

"Potter has an injury…I may die of shock," said Snape. And when Lupin rounded on him, furious, Snape merely said, "And you decided to drag him here rather than heal it?"

"I tried! It doesn't work!"

Snape pointed his wand at Harry's hand and murmured the same spells Lupin had. Just as before, nothing happened. Snape's brows furrowed and he glanced at Dumbledore, who was looking concerned as well.

"Harry, where did you acquire this injury?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry glanced at Lupin's pale face before answering. "Professor Umbridge's detentions. She makes me write lines, but the quill doesn't write with ink. It – it writes with blood…and this happens."

"She's torturing him!" Lupin cut in. "She's torturing him, and you allowed it! There are _words_ carved into his hand! How could you let this happen?!" Once again Lupin did not raise his voice, but the snarling undertone made Harry nervous. It was like Lupin could sprout fangs and bite any moment. He had never seen his old professor this angry.

He flinched when he felt pressure on his hand. Snape had conjured a cloth and was pressing it to the wounds. "I doubt the headmaster allowed anything, Lupin," he said, "because I doubt Potter ever brought it to anyone's attention. Isn't that correct, Potter?" Snape's eyes bore into Harry's and Harry looked away. He didn't need Snape looking into his mind right now.

"Well, I – no, I didn't." There was no point in denying the obvious.

Snape removed the cloth and looked at Harry's hand. "'I must not tell lies.' This is what she made you write?"

Harry nodded.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Obviously the message didn't take."

This time Lupin did raise his voice. _"How can you joke about this?!"_

"I assure you, Lupin, I find nothing about this humorous. Potter, hold this." Snape relinquished the cloth to Harry and then, without so much as a by your leave, pressed his hand to Harry's forehead. Harry jerked back in surprise. "Hold still!" Snape snapped. He felt Harry's forehead, cheek, and his injured hand. "As I thought." He turned to Dumbledore. "I'm going to my office. This is obviously infected. Badly."

Dumbledore nodded. "Take the fireplace."

But Snape was already grabbing a pinch of Floo Powder from the mantle. He stepped into the flames and disappeared.

"Harry."

Harry turned to see Lupin beckoning him over.

"Come here."

Harry obeyed and Lupin copied Snape's actions of checking his temperature, looking grim. "He's right. Sit down." Lupin placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and eased him into a chair.

"Would you care for chair as well, Remus?" Dumbledore asked, drawing one forward with his wand.

There was a mournful trilling. Fawkes had just soared through the window and circled the room, coming to land on Harry's knee. Harry was starkly reminded of when the beautiful phoenix had done the same thing after he had returned from the Third Task. Last time it had been Sirius who gripped his shoulder. Now it was Lupin, who had ignored Dumbledore's invitation and was standing beside Harry, hovering over him. Sirius. Lupin would surely tell him. Harry only prayed his godfather would have the sense not to do anything stupid.

Harry's worries eased as Fawkes began to sing. He had only heard the phoenix sing a few notes in the past, but now he chirruped a lovely tune that made Harry sink back in the chair and smile wanly. The phoenix's music seemed to have a similar effect on everyone in the room. Lupin's grip on Harry's shoulder eased, though he stayed where he was.

After a few minutes Snape reappeared holding a couple of vials. One he handed to Harry, telling him to drink, the other he dabbed on the back of Harry's hand. Harry winced at the sting as the cuts smoked and bubbled. Snape began moving his wand over Harry's hand in a circular motion, chanting an incantation that sounded almost like a song. Harry felt the throbbing and stinging decrease and the bleeding stopped. Snape kept chanting. On the second pass of his wand the swelling decreased; on the third the cuts began to knit together. They looked over halfway healed, though the words were now plain as day.

"How did you do that?" asked Lupin, staring at Harry's hand.

"That spell isn't well known," answered Snape. "It's designed to heal injuries caused by Dark Magic."

Lupin looked livid, Snape calculating, Dumbledore impassive though his blue eyes were piercing.

"I can't prevent it from scarring," Snape addressed the room in general. "But those potions should take care of the infection. How do you feel, Potter?"

"Much better, sir. Thank you." Harry's hand still felt tender but nowhere near as sore as it had.

"Well done, Severus," said Dumbledore. "And now, Harry, if you would be so kind, I think we had best hear the whole story. How long has Professor Umbridge been subjecting you to this?"

"Since the year started. This is what she's always done in my detentions with her."

"How frequent have these detentions been?" Dumbledore asked.

"It varied. Sometimes several times a week, sometimes once every couple weeks."

"And how long did they usually last?"

"A – a few hours."

Snape interjected. "With your vast experience of detention, Potter, surely you realized this was not a typical punishment?"

"I know," said Harry. "I knew that, but…I didn't know what to do."

"Consulting your Head of House or the headmaster never occurred to you?" Snape folded his arms, looking much like he did in class when someone melted a cauldron.

"It did," said Harry. "But I didn't want to cause a problem. I don't want her trying to sack anybody else."

Snape still looked skeptical but said nothing. Lupin turned to Dumbledore.

"Harry's actions aren't the issue here. I still want to know why you never bothered to do anything. You know what that – that _woman_ – is. She's been giving Harry detentions that are hours long for months, and you never thought maybe you should look into it?"

"I will not offer you meaningless excuses, Remus. I have assumed better of Dolores Umbridge than she has deserved. Clearly I was very mistaken." Dumbledore eyed the words on Harry's hand with disgust. "Be assured this situation will be dealt with."

"Yes," said Lupin, his voice almost contemptuous. "It will. And naturally the first thing that's going to happen is that Harry's guardian will be informed immediately."

Harry's head shot up. "I don't think—" he started to say, but Lupin gave his shoulder a sharp squeeze.

"His real guardian!" Lupin added. "Not those creatures you placed him with."

Harry stared at Lupin. Why did he suddenly have it in for the Dursleys? Dumbledore himself looked puzzled, but before he could reply, Snape interjected.

"I'm of a mind to agree, Headmaster. In fact, I might suggest we act sooner rather than later. As it is a Hogsmeade weekend, our absence will be less commented upon."

Dumbledore's eyes met Snape's and it seemed to Harry that they were communicating something important. After a few moments consideration, Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. Yes, I find I quite agree. It seems there is much discussion needed on...various topics. I suggest we take Fawkes. That will be the most expedient way."

"We're going now?" Harry asked, his stomach turning into a mass of butterflies.

"Yes." It was Lupin who answered. "He's your godfather, Harry. He needs to know."

"But—"

"Never fear, Potter, I planned ahead," said Snape, retrieving another two vials from his pocket. Harry easily recognized the Calming Draught by now. He wasn't sure whether he found Snape's forethought comforting or concerning.

"Fawkes," Dumbledore addressed the phoenix. "If you wouldn't mind."

Fawkes chirruped, spread his wings, and leaped to hover in the air before his master. Dumbledore took hold of his tail, and Snape and Lupin followed suit. Lupin shifted his grip from Harry's shoulder to his hand. Just as before, Harry felt as though he had become almost weightless as soon as Lupin touched Fawkes' feathers. Five strong wing beats lifted all four of them off the ground, and then they disappeared in a flash of flames.


End file.
